


Your Coal

by Angrish (LettuceBean)



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: And that anger kinda hinders any kind of romantic progress for a while, Gen, Grudges and Resentment, Lesson 16 (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) Spoilers, MC: If I'm going to be stuck here I'll cause as much shit as I want, MC: Slightly pissed off with the events of Chapter 16, Other, POV Second Person, Pairings? What pairings? No pairings. Just irritation, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 165,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24194083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LettuceBean/pseuds/Angrish
Summary: Spoilers I guessYou didn't ask for this. Who the hell signed you up for this shit?Okay, it wasn't as bad. Demons here just wanted to eat you except they couldn't because another demon told them not to. That was reassuring. Time to cause as much trouble as you could just to screw back with them.Maybe it wasn't as terrible as you thought. Or you were just adapting, breathing demon air, sleeping in demon beds.You liked these people; yes, they were people to you. They meant something to you.Then when one of them killed you, you came back to be a stand-in, a living ghost of someone you never knew.You couldn't hurt them like they hurt you. But it wasn't about that anymore. Now it was how spitefully you were going down.A retelling of Chapters 1-16 of a reluctant MC who learned to trust and got punished for it.
Relationships: Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Everyone
Comments: 348
Kudos: 818





	1. Recap

**Author's Note:**

> After reading a couple of stories, I'm glad to know I wasn't the only one pissed off with the events of Chapter 16. As in: why was Belphegor's attempted (and technically successful) murder not lingered on after Diavolo gave the surprise news? Why was the MC more concerned about creating a time paradox then having seen their dead body and also being almost murdered a second time? Did the MC just conveniently forget that part or are they actually that forgiving? How does Belphegor do a 180° from “Destroy humans rah” to “Oh you're Lilith's child nvm hehe ❤” and no one bats an eye? Is this how demons actually work? And everyone just accepts it?
> 
> So I decided “Fuck it, let's make MC a grouchy sob who takes a longer time to make sense of and “forgive” this shit because they're a normal human”

_“You’re human, and that makes you different. Never forget that.”_

It wasn’t hard to forget with the horns, wings, and the bursts of magic you’d never command. It shouldn’t have been. When you first came here with an explanation so ridiculous, you were seen as a pest, a walking morsel that any demon would’ve devoured were it not for Diavolo.

“I can’t believe that I’m supposed to take orders from food…” An irritated sigh that gave way to gnawing on Blackbelly Newt legs. You found it disconcerting at first, but that gave way to an emotion that was your crutch: anger.

You didn’t _ask_ to come here and be ogled at with the constant threat of death and dismemberment. Lucifer still wouldn’t tell you who applied on your behalf because you were pretty sure you weren’t so fed up with your life on earth to throw yourself into Hell—that is, Devildom—and hang out with literal demons who had no qualms admitting that they would eat you if they could.

“I can’t believe I have to look after a human, what a waste of time! Just so y’know, it’s not because I’m afraid of Lucifer, okay? An’ hurry up! Humans are so slow, so _—_ ”

“Shut up, demon.” Any physical confrontation with these creatures would result in you splattered all over the ground, that was clear. But if the very demon assigned to your welfare kept complaining about the stay you were forced into, then you’d be damned sure to make it as unpleasant as you could.

“You really need to watch your mouth. Gutsy, aren’t ya?”

Mammon. Not the sharpest crayon in the box, unnecessarily loud, and immature. He was helpful sometimes and as ridiculous as his antics were, amused you. He reminded you of your brother but you tried not to think about that because that train of thought only led you to sadness and worry you couldn’t assuage.

You’d have liked him more if he was honest with his feelings. His crush on you was so obvious; his brothers teased him for it, you saw it every time he blushed, stammering about how he had _no choice_ but to look after you because you were his charge and you were only a weak _human_ who _needed his protection, nothing more—_ because how could he, _The Great Mammon_ have feelings for a _human_ of all creatures—

A demon, older than you by who knows how long, constantly denying everything because how could a _human_ be of any worth, but then being the first to pry you away from any hint of friendly contact from everyone else? Because he was your “first”? It was embarrassing. And infuriating.

“It’s not fair.”

“Then get better.”

“Just you wait. You got lucky this round, you noob.”

“Levi, hardly anyone says ‘noob’ anymore.”

“Says the clearly not pro gamer! Oh! Ohhhhh! HahahahaOWNED!”

Demons could be otakus; first thing you learned in this (literally) godforsaken place outside the curriculum. He kicked your ass in most games. Socially awkward, for sure, but passionately devoted to his hobbies. When you had that part-time job a few years back at that Internet Cafe, there were hundreds like him, talked like him. He seemed… human. Funny, right? You didn’t—couldn’t say that. Not here, where the term ‘human’ was slander.

But you didn’t forget. He was the first **real** demon you saw and one that, just for a moment, truly wanted to kill you over a stupid contest. That Lucifer stopped him in time didn’t erase that instant of fear where you ran knowing you wouldn’t have made it. A stark reminder to you once more that you weren’t their equal, could never be.

Why did you want to go to the attic?

Maybe because part of you still thought this was some prolonged acid trip. Maybe because your initial shock, horror, and stress at being thrown into a place no normal human should be expected to survive drove you to cause as much trouble as you could. Or when Lucifer denied your curiosity, one more rule shoved into your face. You were determined to find out as a tiny act of rebellion. Or the voice pleading for help reminded you too much of your own plight: a trapped soul, unable to escape until allowed to be.

“You have a particular habit of sticking your nose where it’s not wanted, don’t you?”

Heh, you didn’t have a choice of coming here. Might as well make it interesting.

Beelzebub (You called each demon by their full name at first, another particular habit) was the first demon who didn’t immediately grate on your nerves. You even understood his rage at his eaten custard; Hell, you got super pissed when your sister ate the takeout leftovers that you _clearly marked as your own_ but you never demolished the kitchen for it.

Lucifer was aloof, Mammon was increasingly insufferable, Levi was a recluse, and the others had no interest in you. Beel was open, even-tempered when eating or well-fed, and a gentle giant. He was like a friend. You couldn’t help feeling sorrow for his losses, share in his joys, and smile his smiles back. It took you no time to call him ‘Beel’.

Was that what propelled you to defend him? Him and Luke, a childlike angel who evoked your protective instincts somehow. Lucifer said that he and Diavolo would ensure your safety. He wouldn’t hurt his own brother, at least…

How foolish of you to believe the words of a demon, you thought.

“Why did you do that?” he had asked in wonder as he sat by you. “If our positions had been reversed, I’m not sure I’d have done the same.”

Instinct, partially. Your human, suicidal instincts. When would a demon defend a human, anyway? Even Mammon failed pathetically at that one before telling you to just die if he doesn’t make it next time (Seriously?). You had stared into the ceiling for a while before compelled to answer truthfully:

“Because I thought of you guys as my friends.”

What a strange word. Mammon always said you were ‘his human’ like you were his chore. Levi was still coming to terms of having a ‘normie’ playing games with him, and a ‘casual’ at that. But Beel didn’t mock you for saying it. He accepted it with unusual grace and you were happy—yes. Happy. You wanted him to be happy, too.

Which is why you went back to the attic, to the disagreeable demon liar Beel dearly loved. Now your curiosity had a purpose towards a goal. You would always be an outsider, but if you could reconcile this rift before you left, then maybe this whole exchange program would be worth something. And cause a ton of trouble for everyone else on the way, which you found appealing.

So you set off to make more pacts even though you couldn’t do shit with them.

Asmodeus reminded you of an ex and some memorable blind dates. Completely reasonable, since he was the Avatar of Lust. He thought you were cute, but your pacts with his brothers didn’t raise his opinion of you, only lessened that of his siblings. Of course.

You found it hard to believe Solomon was a human sometimes. He was cunning, enigmatic, but kind enough to lead you out of your dance with Lucifer. You appreciated his dashing rescue there—and the chance to learn more about these completely useless pacts you made. Good thing your mom had insisted you take those ballroom lessons; you didn’t have to concentrate on your footwork as you fished for information.

“Even without magical talent, that you have a pact at all is impressive.”

Sure. “The only thing I can really do with it is to tell them to shut up or do stuff.”

“Yet I sense you hardly use that, either. Compelling simple obedience is the basic foundation of a pact, but anything more requires magical talent.”

“Which I don’t have.”

“Yes. A pity, for I feel you’d have made a marvellous sorcerer. But perhaps this spell might help?”

When you asked him how he made a pact with Asmodeus, he laughed.

“Asmodeus… I see. He appreciates beauty, but the surest way to draw him to your service would be to impress him. Something unexpected, something that’ll overwhelm his flighty tendencies and draw his attention from himself.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Hm, well, that’s for you to discover, isn’t it?” His eyes laughed as he spun you around. “I already lent you my powers for the next several hours, and if I tell you any more, wouldn’t it be too easy?”

“You’re a bit of an asshole, aren’t you?”

“Ha! I suppose I am. But you’re a destabilizing element and—let’s just say I’m very curious as to how it’ll turn out. You’re a human, and that makes you different…but that doesn’t always mean it’s a bad thing.”

Labyrinths, giant snakes, all for the want of a sleeping photo. You’d enjoy getting into these shenanigans more if it didn’t constantly risk your life. You weren’t usually noted for excessive or imaginative use in profanity, but what you said when you saw Henry 1.0 (again) won you startled looks of admiration from Beel and Mammon, who heartily agreed. Levi did not.

“Damn it! If only Asmo were here!”

If Mammon didn’t yell that, would your eidetic memory have kicked in to recite that spell? Did Solomon expect this to happen? Either way, it worked in your favour. A little too perfectly once you thought about it afterwards, but you preferred the outcome where you kept your entrails in your body.

Against your better judgement, you were softening up to these boys—demon boys. They still reminded you of those you missed back home, but they were becoming people to you, people of their own right, people that you could genuinely smile around, laugh with, throw pillows at.

Now that Asmo was really paying attention to you, he was a piece of work. You expected him to be flirtatious, openly affectionate, no concept of personal space, but you didn’t expect yourself to not mind it so much. He seemed to like you, and it was hard to hate someone who liked you.

But did you truly forget the curled lip and the disdain that had mingled with the sweetness of his voice? You were a lamb among wolves who had made a pet of you. Your anger at your predicament subsided, you made less trouble at school. You were, strange as it was, adjusted.

“I wonder what more secrets you keep, you know. If I stripped you away, layer by layer, and devoured you without leaving a single trace behind, would I figure you out then? Oh, don’t give me that look, you know I’m just kidding… mostly ❤”

See? Weird shit like that. Kept you on your toes as you kicked him out of the kitchen. You wanted to cook some real human food, dammit, and quickly before Beel ate all of it.

None of these people were normal. Sometimes they treated you like a peer, or they treated you like a meat sack they fought over. That they used your room like their own didn’t help at all.

Other demons still stared at you like the forbidden steak you were. They were interested in a snack, not friendship. Fine. Bunch of dicks. The actual course content, though? Learning about new creatures and plants you never even heard about in the human world, and spells (all theoretical for you, of course), and events that were beyond human scope? You were amazed, and perhaps rightfully so. You weren’t a nerd—your school had enough tryhards who stole that title—but everything here worked differently. Eventually, the novelty would wear off but until then, you learned. Eagerly.

“Are you seriously reading that textbook for fun? Again? You tryna be the teacher’s pet?”

“What’s the big deal?” You shut the book with an irritated glare. “This is all new to me. Why wouldn’t I want to know more about this place?”

Despite this, the events of your life here settled down in rhythms of pseudo-domestic routine. You could hold conversations with Mammon that didn’t end with you wanting to hurl a brick at his face. Gaming with Levi didn’t always end in you getting KO’d (still happened, though). Beel ate whatever you cooked even though you didn’t believe in measuring cups. Having Asmo blowdry and brush your hair after a shower felt soothing as long as his hands didn’t wander too far.

“I’m going to make a pact with you, too.”

Satan? Why? He showed you about as much interest as a lamp up until this point. You were pretty sure he didn’t even like you, but when you saw him shoot a smirk at an irate Lucifer, it clicked.

This annoyed you. Well, a lot of things annoyed you since you came here and still did. But you weren’t going to be the reason why Satan was kicked out of this place. You caused trouble to help and to amuse yourself. This accomplished neither. You weren’t going to be the source of another family feud when you were trying to fix one already.

“Uh, you sure about that?”

“I said I would, and I will. Let’s get this over with.”

Ha-ha. As if you made it easy for any of his brothers.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not like this. Not if it ends with you walking away from the House of Lamentation.”

Good God, it was always terrifying when they became all demon-y. Lucifer said this was the Avatar of _Wrath_ , didn’t he? Yet you never saw him wrathful, not until now. You had become complacent. You had forgotten what these demons would’ve done to you if you weren’t their pet project.

“I’ll chop off your hands and feet, slice your nose and ears, grind you to a paste and feed you to the lower demons if you disrespect me like that again.”

You didn’t know what you were exactly going to say to that, and you never would, because Lucifer stepped in and the two idiots had a book fight. You were just about fed up with this and would’ve bolted out of the room if they hadn’t—

“Switched bodies? Seriously? Sounds like some cheesy plot twist out of an anime! Rofl lmaoooo—”

Yeah, sounded about right. You turned aside to hide your grin. Too bad they noticed it anyway.

“It seems you find our predicament amusing.”

“My bad. I’ll just… leave you guys to it. Have a nice evening!” You pressed your lips, trying to maintain a sombre expression.

You were less amused when they said they’d sleep in your room. What a fantastic turn of events; and that was before Mammon’s tirade of complaints on the arrangements. How were you supposed to sleep with them?

It was annoying. It was hilarious. You were becoming less angry at being here. That’s why you tried to help.

Turned out Satan was a pretty decent fellow, just had a lot of pent-up anger issues. Kinda like you. You weren’t born from your parents’ emotions but you knew the feeling of being overshadowed by someone greater. That summed up your schooling.

So after that extremely embarrassing and uncomfortable bit with the ‘building intimacy’, you tossed him some words that you really should’ve heard back in sophomore year when the teacher’s pet insulted you for that one stupid test. Because if you did, maybe you wouldn’t have snapped and punched that smug little brat in the braces.

“…Pff, what do **you** know, **human?** ”

Ouch.

“I’m kidding. Sorry, I just wanted to say that.”

Never mind. He could go fuck himself, too.

Still, he apologized for that and for dragging you into this mess. No one really apologized here, except for Lucifer, who seemed to regard it more as a formality. Other than that, none. Not even Levi, for attacking you that one time. Spoken words could end up having power. And Satan, who prized knowledge and the written word, knew this.

“Thanks.”

Had a demon thanked you before? They had been _grateful_ to you before, certainly, but to express it directly? Yeah, demons didn’t do that often. You softened to him as much as he was to you.

Every single time. Every time you thought that maybe being here wasn’t so bad, something happened immediately after that made you reconsider. Like this world was punishing you for hating it less and less. Now you were running for dear life from a virtual Cerberus, seriously considering your sanity.

Though it was pretty cool seeing Lucifer making Cerberus his bitch. Less cool when the body-swapping bit still remained.

But going back to the human world? This was singularly the best news you’ve heard since coming here. You never had the chance to explain to your family and friends exactly where you’d be hauled off for a year (was it a human year or demon year?) You wanted to see your parents, missed them more than you could’ve imagined.

“We’re going to London.”

Well, shit. That wasn’t where they were. You didn’t know anyone there, only stories from picture books. You didn’t like being sad. You focused, instead, on the sunlight on your skin, the scent of flowers and fresh soil on the wind.

“How does it feel being back in the human world after so long? Does it make you want to return home?”

That obvious, huh?

But if you were home, would you have ridden an English train like Harrison Porter, solved a murder mystery that rivalled the stories of Shirley Homes, watched a live stage production, and danced the night away knowing that you’d be protected? Was that why you admitted that you weren’t ready to leave them yet?

Months. Only months left before you could see your family, your _human_ family and friends and never be separated from them again. Months before you’d leave the Devildom and these brothers behind, for good. They were their own family; they weren’t _your_ brothers. And yet…

If you were someone who obsessively analyzed every facet of each emotion you felt (that wasn’t irritation), you wouldn’t have made it this far. Best to enjoy the present when it was good and tough it out when it wasn’t. It saved you a good deal of heartache. And right now, you enjoyed where you were, bit by bit.

“It’s possible that your mission in life is to influence Lucifer and his brothers in some way.”

You had stared at Diavolo before bursting into laughter. After multiple near-death incidents, many involving the very demons you were ‘influencing’, that was your sole purpose for being alive? Granted, these were powerful demons, but still…

“Hahahaha! I’m glad that you have such a positive outlook on it!” He gave your back a couple of bone-rattling slaps. “With Lucifer and Satan now back in their rightful bodies, Satan delivering an excellent speech, this is surely a night to remember. Eat, drink, and be merry!”

You drank too much wine. You shouldn’t have done that. But it tasted good, you felt good, and this was the first evening you really believed that everything would be all right. Everyone kinda liked you, which increased your chances of survival here. They weren’t like friends anymore. They simply were, you believed.

When Satan offered to pact with you again, you giggled. You were drunk on Demonus and the hopes that you finally established a sense of belonging here, among them. You thanked him so cheerfully he blushed. Even Lucifer, who had left briefly to respect his privacy, must’ve heard because he was smiling when he came back.

“You… met Belphegor?”

Pride goes before a fall, but alcohol is a close second. You and your stupid tongue.

“Do you REALLY find it so amusing to poke your nose into our business at every opportunity? Do you enjoy causing trouble among my brothers? You don’t have the right. YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT!”

Not that everything he said wasn’t true but you could only think _shit shit shit_ because this time he really was going to kill you and Diavolo wasn’t there to stop him. You no longer tried to run; you knew how pointless that’d be.

Because that wasn’t big enough of a clusterfuck, it got messier and messier. Yes, maybe this was where everything went irreversibly wrong. It was hard to recount it because everything was a blur and you didn’t want to remember everyone looking so distraught. That wasn’t what you wanted for them.

“Did I hear that right? You… saved Belphie?”

“You’re welcome, Beel.” Because if you can’t deny it, own it. Own it like your life doesn’t matter because you already sold it to the devil(s). Heh.

Then you were in Luke and Simeon’s room and making sure none of the angels were out of your line of vision because something about the seventh brother set off inexplicable but unmistakable warning bells in your head. Not that he could do anything, what with an overjoyed Beel squeezing him in a vicelike hug.

How inconvenient yet realistic that Diavolo would apprehend him! And how **not** surprised you were when you learned that Belphegor hated humans (which included you, by the way.)

“Guess we have no choice but to go back to Lucifer.”

“Always knew I’d end up dying here,” you laughed. It wasn’t a good sound even to your ears.

“Hey. Don’t say that. I won’t let that happen to you. I promise.”

It was a joke, you wanted to say. Well, not really, but you were only trying to lighten the mood. But Beel was earnest and gripping your shoulders a little too tight, so you nodded and assured him that you believed him. He was devoted to his family, honest with his feelings, and wanted to keep everyone—by that, _everyone_ —safe.

How could you deny him your help, however pathetic it was?

“I mean, was this all for Belphie? Ya made a pact with me… for **him**?”

“Mammon, I literally didn’t know he existed when I made a pact with you.”

“Then why’d you make a pact with me for, huh?!”

“So Levi can get his money back? You idiot.”

“Hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad at you!”

This is where Mammon being dumb had its advantages. He didn’t stay mad at you for long. And maybe him being your ‘first man’ had more meaning than you had thought because you hugged him.

“You’re the best, Mammon.”

Oh, you really shouldn’t have said that. Now he wasn’t ever going to forget it.

Reconciling with Levi (and also apologizing for kicking down his door), conversing with Satan, even having the levity to sweet-talk Asmo, proved how far you’ve come with these brothers, and how you changed, too. Your mom always said your temper was your greatest weakness, that anger could only take you so far. Well, it wasn’t anger that carried you now, not all the time.

You admitted that you were concerned. That you cared, and not just because you promised yourself to see this though, not just because it was a fascinating exploration of family feuds and the demon realm.

“That’s Lilith?”

“Yes. Our youngest sister. Although she’s not actually resting here. Just take the grimoire and Lucifer should come.”

You had an inkling from the moment Beel mentioned her way back. But a passing feeling could be brushed aside in the face of the present. A vivid hallucination of Lucifer, cradling a dying angel and swearing fealty to Diavolo? Harder to ignore, impossible to forget.

No. No way. You doubted the ease of your success since you came here, but the puzzles were clicking into place, fast. You had something to do with this being, someone long dead. Why else would her brothers be so drawn to you? Why else would they accept a pact so willingly?

“What are you doing? We can’t hold off Cerberus for much longer!”

Fuck this stupid place. You yanked at the book, ripping off the ivy. Nothing on your person except this dumb book. You’d have thrown it at one of its heads, too.

“Cerberus, SIT!”

“About damn time ya came to save our necks!”

Lucifer, the big hero who always came in to save the day. You stared at him. He loved Lilith. He became a _demon_ for Lilith. He was Diavolo’s servant, all for his sister. Would you have done the same for your own sister?

Then you remembered that he tried to kill you. _Twice_.

“!”

“Hmm… I don’t know if I’d call that a hit. It looked more like a gentle pat on the shoulder.”

Thanks, Asmo. Now both your ego and fist hurt. Didn’t two of your knuckles crack from the impact? And it was just a _tap?_

“C’mon Lucifer, tell us. This is a family problem and it involves us all.”

The silence was depressing. “Yeah, this _is_ a family problem. I’ll just go over to my room and get some—”

“No, there’s no need to go.”

“Yep. You’re like family to us now. Stay where you are.”

That was one of the nicest things Levi had said to you. Each of them thought you as such, an outsider without an ounce of power or talent. There was no more anger left in you as you asked Lucifer, respectfully, for the truth.

“Please tell us how all of this started.”

Lucifer told the story without embellishment, which you appreciated. You felt sorry for their sister Lilith and sympathized with the brothers’ losses. You thought it stupid that she’d risk so much for a human only to lose everything, but what would you know?

No use in insulting the dead.

But this Belphegor… he sounded dangerous. Tragic, perhaps, but irrational. To blame all humans for this tragedy and attempt mass genocide? As if that human forced Lilith to fall in love with him. What the fuck.

“Belphie blamed himself as much as the man she’d fallen in love with. He said that if she hadn’t met him, she never would’ve died. That’s when he began hating humans.”

“Rather irrational of him,” you muttered. “No wonder he didn’t listen to you.”

“Grief makes you cling on to whatever you have left. With how close Belphie was to Lilith, his guilt might as well have consumed him. Out of desperation, he projected his hate onto the next possible source. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Lucifer. I should’ve seen… I’m his twin, after all. I should’ve said something.”

Great. All the wrong people were apologizing. You never liked that. You hoped this Belphegor realized just how lucky he was to have an army’s worth of brothers to justify his cheating, lying, manipulative behaviour.

You rose from the armchair with a sigh. “Well, let’s go then.”

“Where?”

“To Diavolo, to sort this mess.”

“Whoa, whoa. You don’t think you actually have a chance to persuade Diavolo, the Prince of Devildom? Are you mad?”

It was an unnerving idea, to say the least. You’ve been menaced by enough demons to know, very thoroughly, that you didn’t even have the ghost of a chance.

“You’re a really dumb human, you know that?”

“Says the really dumb demon,” you shot back. “Anyways, let’s go see the end of this. I made a promise to.”

“You did? Since when? For who?”

Mammon did say no more secrets. “To myself, to cause as much trouble as possible while I’m here. The first day coming.”

You grinned when some of them laughed, somewhat reluctantly, and others gave you the look. You weren’t lying. They just never asked if you made other promises that might make you die of embarrassment if you told anyone else.

“I see that all of the brothers have come in moving support of brotherly love. And… an outsider.”

You sighed. Lucifer was supposed to do all the talking since all of them wanted their brother freed. You weren’t the smartest, but you weren’t dumb enough to realize what that’d spell for you, a human. You wouldn’t be something a human-hating homicidal demon would want to see every morning at the breakfast table.

Still, you understood the value of family. After all, you had one, too. And that Barbatos and Diavolo were stonewalling Lucifer compelled you to speak up on their behalf.

You were compelled to _speak_. Not travel back in time.

“Only the human exchange student will go back to the past. No one else. We must find out who caused the seal on the attic to break even though Lucifer hasn’t made the pact.”

Oh, just find out. No battling. Like reconnaissance. The only fear was the fear of discovery, which you could handle.

“If I die, I’m totally going to haunt you.”

“If you’re the representative of the human world that you claim to be, you’ll survive and learn the truth. Otherwise… I entrust them to you, Barbatos.”

“…As you wish, my lord.”

“Wait, what?”

“Come this way.”

Shit got weirder and weirder just when you thought you finally pieced it all together.

“Remember, you only have to find out who released the seal. Once you have that information, please return promptly. It’s best if you don’t get discovered by anyone, especially by yourself.”

It was best not to think too much about how this worked. You liked to keep it simple: find the dumbfuck who caused this mess, give them a good punch if you had the time, and pray that it had nothing to do with a not-so-dead Lilith, who just happened to be the last sibling that could fulfill the condition to lift the seal.

With some delays and relatively small chaos, you made it to the attic. All you had to watch out for was who—or what—freed Belphegor.

“Lilith…”

This demon lied to you. Several times. And probably hated you. But you promised Beel you’d try. And the others. They didn’t want to lose another sibling. Surely there was an alternative, one beyond your human preconceptions. You touched the door. For a creature mired in hate, he was a pitying sight.

Your stomach dropped to your asshole when the door opened without any semblance of resistance. Oh fuck _oh fuck_ **_oh fuck!_ **You hoped your hammering heart wasn’t loud enough as you made out to close back the door and get out of here. You still only had five pacts. Then…

“Mm… Lilith… I miss you…”

Were you Lilith? Was it her ghost possessing you? Damn it, Lilith! If Lilith was here, why not show her damn self?!

“You…? What are you doing here? And… the door’s open?”

A great grasp of the obvious, this one. You’d have said it aloud, too, if your head wasn’t about to split and your hands weren’t so damn moist.

“You did it! You’re amazing, come here and give me a hug!” He spread his hands out wide.

“Uh… no thanks.” There were no angels or demons around here, just… him. What the hell were you supposed to do now? Go back to Barbatos and say ‘Yeah, turns out it was me, somehow. Oops’?

“Aw. You’re not very cute, are you?” His arms dropped, his face twisting into a half-smile. Before you had time to register anything else, your head slammed against the wall, the resulting stars swimming in your vision as a hand scrunched into a fist around your neck.

“Humans are such stupid, weak creatures,” he sneered. “Blame yourself for being stupid enough to fall for a trick as easy as this.”

Panic made you claw at his arm because your body was hardwired for survival. You couldn’t tell if the pain at your head or neck was greater. You tried to say something, most likely a variation of “fuck you”.

“I **hate** humans, you see.”

Helplessness erased every cohesive thought as life was strangled out of you, and you could do nothing about it. Nothing. You were going to die, with the last sound being that demon’s manic laughter at your suffering.

ℍ𝕖𝕪, 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕦𝕡. ℙ𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖, 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕖.

The light hurt your eyes. There was nothing else to see. The voice, calling to you. It wasn’t a familiar tone, but even an idiot could guess it right.

“I know you.”

𝕐𝕖𝕤, 𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕, 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖.

“Where have you been all this time?”

𝔸𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟, 𝕀 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕. 𝔸𝕟𝕕… 𝕀 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤. ℙ𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖, 𝕤𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞. 𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕞𝕪…

Before you could retort that you bloody _tried_ only to end up like this, pain lanced through your body. You were on the attic stairs, a loose plank dug into your side. Your hands flew up to your throat, your head. Your chest heaved as you took big, unhindered gulps of air. Christ.

You read enough books to know where this was going. You were Lilith’s… reincarnation sounded like the best guess, with her having been an angel and all. Not that anyone would believe you.

Your head pounded. There were voices downstairs. More than one. Good. That meant more than the resident crazy demon. Never had you felt so vulnerable, so utterly weak. So this was why demons viewed humans with such contempt.

“Belphie, what have you done?!”

Great, the fuckhead must’ve already bragged.

“Lucifer, can’t we do something?”

You could kick him in the balls, you thought. You swung around the corner, not sure what to do next, but what you saw next froze you in your tracks.

It wasn’t every day you got to see yourself. You felt the sweat on your face turn cold. It was you, all right. Your throat: a purple, twisted mess. The back of your head, a bloody pulp with bits of pink leaking out, along with fragments of skull. Was it the angle that you were seeing yourself at, or were your limbs curved at angles that shouldn’t be possible? You couldn’t take your eyes off the puddle of flesh that was you… yet you were here.

That image would remain with you for a long, long time.

Shock paralyzed humans and demons alike, it seemed.

“Even willpower like this has to have a limit, right? Now **die!** ”

Fear could steal even profanity as the hands encircled your throat again. You couldn’t lose your voice again. “Wait!”

“Why should I?!”

Words spilled out of you like blood from a gaping wound. Lilith lived, Lilith was a human, Lilith was happy, and Lilith most assuredly didn’t want to see you dead, not after… whatever she did to keep you alive. You left that part out because really, would this demon believe you anyway?

“Lies _lies LIES!_ As if you could believe the word of a human!”

See what you mean?

The brothers were too dumbstruck to hold the crazy demon back and _oh fuck you were going to die again._

Never had you been so relieved to see Diavolo and his little henchman. He could explain the rest from here if the others wouldn’t believe _the word of a human_. Your legs were shaking, but you refused to fall. As if you’d give the demon the satisfaction of seeing your fear and despair, again.

“You are a direct descendant of the human Lilith.”

Oh. At least your guess was close. Your head was swimming as more exposition—information—was loaded onto the rest. You didn’t need to hear it. You were focusing on your breathing, fighting with the emotion you hated above all others.

Fear.

Your hands twitched; you needed to hold something. Since there wasn’t anything, you held them to your chest, white-knuckled fingers flexing and twisting, your nails digging into your palm.

“This is so hard to believe…”

“This is like something out of a dream!”

You were enveloped in embraces of euphoria. Everyone was talking all at once, words blending into noise. Hands were holding you close, caressing your hair, cupping your face. Every face that stared into your own held expressions of a joy you couldn’t return. Your own emotions were scrambled, vying for dominance but only shredding your mind further.

“This… this is a trick. A trap! You can’t fool me like that!”

That’s exactly what you wanted to say. But… how else to explain Lilith’s intervention? Why else did all these brothers accept you as they would no other human? Because you were their dead sister’s replacement. A living doll to console their loss, as if it had never been.

“Sorry you had to find out the truth this way.”

You were talking to yourself, mostly. Or was Lilith talking through you?

“Lilith… Lilith!” Now he was crying, too, bewitched under the spell that was Lilith. Your ancestor. A person you never knew, but somehow now the most important fact about you. “I’m sorry… Lilith…”

There were too many people clinging to you. There were too many thoughts for you to choose a specific course of action: Fight? With what? You were dumb enough to never have a weapon on your person, despite being in a pit of demons. Run? You knew it was futile. Push them off? Right, fat chance.

So you let yourself be moved—half-dragged—to the common room for a tea party. Your brain was still in survival mode, and survival meant not pissing off these nice-acting demons unless you wanted your innards smeared across demontown. Your lips twitched to resemble a smile. Your eyes were wide, much like when you were eager to absorb your surroundings.

“All of you, that’s enough. You’re making them uncomfortable.”

To put it mildly. You froze when the crazy demon insisted on sitting next to you. But you couldn’t speak.

“Hahaha! There must have been so many things you’ve all wanted to do for Lilith over the years.”

I’m not Lilith, you wanted to say. But you kept your mouth shut because your body wanted to survive. You were only alive because they saw you as Lilith. If you weren’t her descendant, how many times would you have had to die?

You rehearsed the question several times in your head. Your voice sounded higher than usual, but not enough to draw attention (most of their attention was on who you _symbolized_ , not who you _were_ ): “What happened to the other… me?”

“I chose you to be the only ‘you’ in this reality. That’s why the other disappeared while you remained.”

“That’s a powerful ability to have, don’t you think?”

“Eh, details. Who cares about all that complicated stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s thanks to Barbatos’s powers that we’re now all together like this.”

It was that simple. You never died. You never returned to the past because this present was the reality Barbatos chose. In this reality, you never went to Luke’s room. Lucifer wouldn’t remember you hitting him. Levi never said you were like a part of the family because of your actions. It was all because of your heritage now. Belphegor never murdered you, but fawned over you, just like the others. You were the only anomaly, for remembering things that never happened in this reality.

You liked thinking simple. Not this time. Because the simple course of action was to scream and try to kill them for this. You hyper fixated on every little detail to distract you from that suicidal direction.

_But what did it matter? Barbatos could simply choose another reality where you didn’t go berserk._

Or maybe you already have and he already fixed it.

“Hey, what’s wrong with ya?”

“Are you all right?”

You had your hands folded in your lap so they’d stay still. The tea tasted like ash and the treats forced on you sat heavy in your stomach. You had to get out of here.

“I… I’m very tired. I’d like to go back to my room if that’s okay.” Quick, smile! You had to make sure they’d believe you enough to let you go. If you made a scene they’d only stick to you longer.

“Mm, I imagine today’s events would wear on a human quite thin. Especially with everyone swarming you about,” Diavolo nodded.

There was a small outcry, but you were released. Their poor human needed rest. Humans were fragile creatures, after all. Rejecting their various offers to walk you back to your room and keep you company, you somehow made it to your room, where sounds were muted and you had no one to keep your thoughts at bay.

“Fuck.”

The first thing you did was to make your way to the bathroom and vomit. You vomited until your head throbbed with your pulse and your fingers shook as they clung to the rim.

When you heaved only air and thickened saliva, you ‘took’ a shower—that is, staring blankly at the purple tiles for an hour or two as water beat down. You didn’t keep track.

Your head was starting to clear, which sharpened the past events into focus. No one gave a shit that you fucking DIED. No one cared that their crazy brother killed you, only that you were alive and everything between the brothers was healed. The only reason you survived—no, that you were _spared_ —was because you were their beloved little sister, back from the dead. It was never anything you did, oh no.

Fear and helplessness were humanity’s worst chains. Some dealt with it well: with courage, inner strength, and love—which you didn’t have. The people who were your anchors weren’t here. Without them, you only had yourself.

You tried to cry, but there were no tears. That wasn’t your style, anyway.

The demon brothers were reunited. It only cost your happiness and sanity. Grief didn’t come to you, or maybe shock prevented it from gaining traction. Fear made you convulse and puke and remember the demon’s sneer as you fell. None of these held you together.

If you could feel the burn of coal that was your anger, it meant you were alive. In this place of damnation, perhaps anger was all you had left. So you closed your eyes and accepted it.

Seizing on this one lifeline you had left, the gears in your head turned. You were disgusted, enraged, and you hated. Like before, you rehearsed scathing lines in your head that you’d lash out at them, comebacks for imagined arguments, abuse to hurl back at them, sarcastic jibes for each of them. Muttering to yourself, you paced back and forth with mounting fury until exhaustion pressed you to crawl into bed in your underclothes.

Your anger was nothing compared to the powers of demons. You were toothless. But you were damned sure you were going to shit everywhere you could. Humans were good at that.

Well… you told yourself this, but at that moment, you had felt only anger, the raw blaze of an unavenged injustice done to you, something that violated your body and psyche. What happened to anger that was left unresolved to decay inside your mind? What would you feel in the morning?


	2. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back home, anger was an emotion to be contained and expressed through controlled decisions. Though it still flared up at inopportune times, you had learned to deal with it, non-destructively. You had learned to talk, rationalize, and check yourself aside from the occasional sarcastic comeback. You also learned food, sleep, and water went a long way in calming your rage before you acted on it.
> 
> Would you remember that when you were returned home? Your lineage didn’t matter there; you were liked because of your character. The most interesting person of your ancestry was your great-grandmother who lost two of her fingers after being mauled by a bear.
> 
> As furious as you were, a bigger concern pressured you: you were alone in the Devildom. There had to be someone you could trust, at least loosely, for the time being. Your impulse was to screw that nonsense and start destroying everything you could get your hands on, but you knew that that wasn’t going to work for very long.
> 
> But how much do you have to be pushed for taking what you knew and throwing it out the window?  
> The kindling was set, all it needed was a match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People read this? People enjoyed it? What sorcery is this?  
> Jokes aside, thank you very much for reading (and enjoying) a not-subtle rant about the ridiculousness of the main plot events! I guess starting with this chapter, things would veer off the canon storyline for now except for a few main points. I’ll gladly continue, no kidneys required.  
> Haven’t experienced such instantaneous feedback in a while. Guess this is what happens when writing for a fandom that’s not years-dead hahaha. Thank you again, I honestly didn't think this would get as much feedback as it did and I'll try to live up to it.

Maybe it was just you, but whenever you went to bed seething, your rage simmered, losing its raw edge to the fulfillment of slumber, rounding out as scraps of other thoughts perched on the margins, whispering other ways to make your mark. It was wakefulness that re-sharpened it.

You were half-expecting Lilith to appear in your dreams. She didn’t. Guess with everything between her brothers solved she was allowed to move on. But didn’t her dad—the God, capital ‘G’, you were thinking—overlook the passage of souls? How did He miss her? Was she still a soul wandering the realm? Or did she finally disappear for good? Or did she deliberately avoid you because she knew how mad you were?

You didn’t know what time you woke up, but you knew it was way too early. You didn’t feel like going back to sleep so you rubbed your eyes until the black spots receded. Then you realized: your throat was parched. Your mouth was probably a nasty cesspool after last night.

Hopefully, no one was in the kitchen at this ungodly hour. If there were, you’d sprint back to your room with none the wiser. You made your way downstairs after throwing on some shorts, trying to shake off the slouch of your shoulders. You were probably this irritable because you were hungry. And thirsty.

Just your luck: the kitchen was empty. Even the fridge was unoccupied, and you grinned. If Beel wasn’t at the fridge, he was finally full. Or eating his way through his private stash of snacks. Or being with his brother, the—

Fuck. Don’t go there. Don’t go back to that fucking attic! Not there! _You’re right here!_ You’re not dead!

You swallowed, blinked rapidly. Taking deep breaths, you righted yourself back to the present. You were in the kitchen, mercifully alone. You didn’t close your eyes for long because then it was easier to envision that demon’s face, to hear his words.

_“Don’t blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for being so stupid to fall for it that easily.”_

You shoved open the fridge with more force than necessary. There wasn’t much: a slice of Devil’s Food Cake, two Poisoned Apples, a container of leftover Demonus-infused goat chops. Eventually, you found something that looked relatively safe for you to eat: a normal-looking orange you hoped was from the human world.

It was damn hard to peel a bloody orange with your hands. You always got peel bits stuck under your nails. Cursing under your breath, you took a bread knife and stabbed the shit out of it, enough to give you an opening. Then you sniffed. Ohh, this was a grapefruit. That meant you had to take the nasty white shit off it, too.

“What are you doing?”

“Fuck!!” Your knife hand shot out before you could think.

“Whoa, there. It’s just me.”

A lantern floated beside him, enough for you to see who it wasn’t. “What’re you doing here?”

“I ran out of tea, so I came to boil some water. I suppose I interrupted you? Sorry about that.”

You lowered your knife, slowly. You probably looked like shit; how did demons look impeccable even in the middle of the night? If it _was_ night, that is.

“Don’t you sleep?”

“Not unless I have to, no. But you seem troubled. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You weren’t even on the same planet as ‘fine’ and you knew it showed. You still held the grapefruit and the knife. “I’m just gonna go back to my room and eat.”

He pressed his lips. You watched him, waiting, wondering. He wasn’t pushy like the rest of his brothers, but you never knew. Because you were Lilith now.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea?”

You _were_ thirsty. You heard shuffling upstairs. Who else was awake? Who else would come here and be a bigger annoyance?

“Not here.”

You meant that you’d take his tea and dip back to your room. You should’ve been clearer about that. Now you were in his room with towers of books looming above you as a gigantic moon shone through the windows.

“Wait here.”

There was hardly room to sit around here. You found a small nook that you huddled into, his blanket draped around your shoulders as you stared at the sky.

You found it hard to let go of the knife. What if that crazy demon barged in here? What if it decided that your connection to Lilith wasn’t enough anymore? You went down like a tool last time, both times. Oh, you’d still go down this time; you weren’t a demon. But you’d make them work for it.

You had to use one of your hands to open a book, though. You put down the grapefruit, wiping your zest-covered hand on your shorts. You’d clean that up later. Picking the least-ominous book you could find, you tried to read.

“Where are you?” he called out as the door closed behind him, the sound giving you enough time to hurriedly shove the book back and grab the orange. Or grapefruit. Whatever.

“It’s chamomile and henbane.”

“It’s not gonna kill me, right?”

“Of course not.”

You believed him, somehow. “Thanks.”

“I suggest you don’t drink mine, though. It contains nightshade essence and bloodroot pulp.”

“Noted.”

“Why do you still have that knife?”

No way to explain that away with a lie. “Self-defence.”

“I’m sorry?”

“For the next time a demon decides to rip out my soul.”

He stifled a chuckle. “And how effective do you think this will be?”

“Considering the last time I died, not so much.”

Funny how that wiped his smile right off.

“But if I’m gonna die here, I’ll make them work for it this time.”

“Hey.” You almost flinched as he reached for your knife. “That’s not going to happen again.”

“How do you know that? Are you Barbatos?”

“No,” he admitted. “But you don’t need a knife. You made a pact with me, remember?”

Oh, right. You forgot about that. What you didn’t forget was:

“You also threatened to chop off my hands and feed me to the demons.”

“Erk… yes, yes, I did say that. And I apologize for it, it was… untoward. I shouldn’t have.”

“Because I’m Lilith’s descendant?”

“I suppose that’s one reason among many.”

It still hurt. “Because that’s all I am to you guys. That’s why I was dragged here. I’m Lilith. I wish it wasn’t true.”

“Truth be told, I don’t know Lilith as well as my brothers.”

“But you still love her.”

“Do I?” He sipped his tea. “I was born of rage, right before the Celestial War. It was the first emotion that formed my existence. And, for a good while, that was all I knew and felt.”

Your leaf water was hot. “And now?”

“When I learned you were of Lilith’s blood, it made me happy. But I don’t have many memories of her. The few I _do_ have, I’m not even sure if they’re Lucifer’s or mine.”

You looked at each other, recognizing a common kinship. Identity confusion? Being overshadowed by someone you could never sever your ties from? The frustration of it all that you could never escape?

You let go of the knife, allowing him to take it away. Your shoulders sagged.

“Before you knew, did I… help?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “As myself?”

He pried the grapefruit off your hands and gave you a sincere smile. “Yes, you did. As you.” He shook his D.D.D—the lizard tail dangled. “Being Lilith’s descendant doesn’t change any of that. Just like how my actions are my own, and not anyone else’s. You taught me that.”

You swallowed, hard. It was what you desperately had needed to hear, you realized. What irony that, at this moment, you held no anger for the Avatar of Wrath! You shoved those damned tears back where they came from. Unfortunately…

“Your nose is dripping.”

Mucus landed on his blanket. Then another. Goddammit. He already held out a packet of tissues, which you took without hesitation.

You blew your nose so hard that your sinuses stung. Maybe you snorted out some of your brains, too. Not that you were going to check. You holed up in his bathroom, rubbing your face and hands raw with cold water until your entire body prickled and all the nasty fluids built up in your face were expunged. Gross.

“Feel better?”

“How did you get time to make me more tea?”

He shrugged, nudging the cup towards you. Then you saw what he held in his other hand.

“Oh, you don’t have to peel that, I can do it…”

“Don’t worry about it. I hate the white strings, too.”

For a time, neither of you talked as you munched on grapefruit, drank the tea, and your mind was in a better place. He didn’t pry, didn’t say a word as his hands got stained and sticky with grapefruit residue.

“Sorry about your blanket.”

“I have spares. Here, put this on, you’ll get cold. More tea?”

“Thanks, I’m good.” You set down the cup, catching whatever he had tossed at you.

“Are you sure?”

“Better than before, at least.”

“What else is on your mind?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. That asshole demon—sorry, your… _brother_ who nearly snapped my neck, your other… brothers who now think I’m a second Lilith… but at least I know you aren’t wearing the Lilith-lens. That’s enough for me.”

He didn’t smile back. “My brothers will understand. They have more concrete memories of Lilith so they might need some time to realize this. But they will. As for Belphie—” here he faltered before resuming briskly, “—when you are ready, you should talk to him.”

“I don’t _want_ to talk to him.”

“If it’s about your safety, I assure you my brothers and I will—”

“It wasn’t enough the last time!”

Shit. You didn’t mean to raise your voice. Especially at a demon known for **wrath**. You shrank back. “Sorry. I’m—I’m sorry.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. You’re right. We weren’t. I’m sorry for asking that of you. You don’t have to talk to him, not when you’re this uncomfortable.”

“I guess Lilith would’ve forgiven him.”

“She was an angel.”

“I’m not.” You crossed your arms. “You told me you can’t change the circumstances of your origin. But how you choose to live your own life has nothing to do with Lucifer. Or, in my case, Lilith. If I ever forgive that—your brother, it won’t be because that’s what Lilith would’ve done.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep the knife. Would you like me to walk you back to your room?”

You supposed the fourth brother would be a better weapon than a kitchen tool; your reflexes were just one more thing that, compared to demons, was absolute trash.

“Oh, hey Beel.”

“Lil—hey. Satan. What’re you doing out here? It’s past curfew.”

“That sounds a little silly considering you break it all the time,” he shook his head. “We were just enjoying a walk. What’s your excuse?”

“Getting some snacks for me and Belphie. Hey, you want to join?”

Your knuckles whitened. “I’m good, thanks.” Satan moved closer to you, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze. It didn’t help.

“O-kay,” he looked at you, at Satan, and at you again. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

Like hell I will, you thought.

“Thank you,” you mumbled when you were at your door. “For everything.”

“Anytime. Look, before you go, I just want to let you know… you can’t avoid them forever. You’ll have to face them eventually.”

So he really _was_ the sane one of the bunch, after all.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll think of something by then.”

“Listen, you can stop by anytime, all right? Even if you don’t want tea, come to my room anytime you need a breather.”

Your face broke into a smile. “You’re a real one, Satan. Sorry, and thanks. For… you know.”

This time he smiled back, and for the present, you were safe. “I know. And thank you, too.”

Only when the door closed behind you, did you realize that his jacket-sweater-thing was still on your shoulders.

Tea was supposed to prevent sleep but it must’ve been the henbane. You were knocked out well past breakfast time. Which suited you fine, actually; you weren’t nearly hungry enough to join the demons.

You needed at least one brother to accompany you to class, Lucifer said. Otherwise, you would be seen as easy prey, he said.

Your lips pursed. Satan said you could only put off the reckoning for so long. He had caught you in a vulnerable moment. But did it have to be the morning after? Pacts or no, you promised yourself you were going to make as difficult as you could for them. This made you smile. Or grimace. No difference to you, right? You thought over what to say, what to prepare for, but ultimately it’d be the same: you’d speak your mind, fuck the consequences.

You already lost your life, once. Hard to lose anything else that mattered as much.

The uniform jacket for this place had too many bangles and random shit. You struggled with it before just tying it around your waist. At least the shirt and tie were normal.

Before you left, you rummaged through your drawers; they were filled with normal crap a demon student would need before you came here: writing utensils, parchment, half-used notebooks, and a letter opener. It’d do. You should've thought of this before.

You had thought of what to say, clearly and concisely. Because if you didn’t, your words came out jumbled with incoherent emotion and demons thought it funny when you did that.

“Look who’s finally here!”

“Took your time coming, did you? Come sit here beside me.”

“Now, don’t be crowding! I’m the first man, remember? Hey, come here, Lily.”

Aaaand whatever was left of your appetite decided to cop out.

“Mammon, they’re still their own person, regardless of Lilith’s blood. Try thinking next time before talking.”

“Yeah, you know he never does that, Satan. I don’t think he can.”

You cleared your throat. You weren’t desperate enough to make a yelly scene _yet_. You yanked the corners of your mouth upwards.

“Good morning, **uncles**.”

Beelzebub gagged, choking on his sandwich. Asmodeus’ face thinned as if his soul had exited his body. Leviathan choked his soup, accidentally inhaling some through his nose. Satan gave a blank stare.

“What the…! Uncle?!” Mammon found his voice first.

“Yeah, uncle.” Your cheeks were starting to hurt, but you kept smiling. You were pretty sure it didn’t look like a smile at this point, but who gave a shit? “Since I’m Lilith’s descendant, that makes you guys my great-great-great-… uncles, right? I’m not all that hungry today, _uncles_ , so I think I’ll be heading to class first.”

“Listen, um… what’s gotten into ya? Have you gone nuts?”

You had practiced your thousand-yard stare after washing your face. “Why? Isn’t it true?”

“It’s not wrong! Just… uncle? Really?”

“Oh, we’re too young-looking to be called that! Go back to calling me Asmo~ it sounds cuter when you say that.”

“Nah.” You smiled wider. Did Leviathan actually flinch? “Since I’m alive thanks to Lilith, I think I’ll honour her through her brothers. So, _uncles_ , is this a problem? It’s not like I’m confusing _your_ names.”

Okay, the look Mammon gave you was pretty apologetic. But things were far past for an apology to fix everything.

Oh, and there came through the doors the bane of your existence. Your almost-murderer.

“Oh…”

“…”

“Belphie…”

“So tired…”

Why were they uncomfortable now? Weren’t they overjoyed to have their demon brother back? They pushed food to him, got him his fork, did everything short of spoon-feeding him. Jackasses. You turned your heel.

“Wait, I’m coming, too.”

“Oh. In that case… I’ll head off, too.”

“Right behind you.”

“All of you, hurry up to class. You’re going to be late. Ah, and you… I have something to tell you.”

Always something that got in your way. Well, fine. “What is it, oh mighty uncle?”

There was a stifled sound; Asmodeus coughed, trying to choke back a nervous giggle, and to his horror, it proved contagious. Mammon found himself struggling against a diabolic urge to laugh… until he saw the expression on Lucifer's face.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I’m sorry, is it wrong to call you that? Aren’t you Lilith’s brother?”

What scraps of logic that remained in your head pooled dread in the pit of your stomach. But logic wasn’t the dominant factor anymore. So you stared back with mingling defiance, mockery, and stretched your ‘smile’ so wide your lip threatened to split.

Just try to kill me again, you dared internally. Third time’s the charm, right?

You took a small victory in that he was the first to look away. But he scowled as he told you about Diavolo’s birthday party, where your attendance was mandatory.

“Ugh, sounds like a drag.”

“It’s not a choice. You’re going whether you like it or not.”

“Yes, that does seem to be the case with me these days. If there isn’t anything else, I’m going to be late for class.” You gave an exaggerated curtsey.

He said nothing as he stepped aside, allowing you to continue. You gave him one last challenging look, something you’d probably regret later before you strode away.

“Hey! Oi! Wait up! Why’re you walking so fast?”

“To get to class on time, uncle.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Then what should I call you?”

“The Great Mammon, obviously!”

“Why should I, when you call me Lilith?”

“Huh? Wha… oh, that’s what this is about? Look, that didn’t mean nuthin’, I just… hey! I said wait!”

As if you were going to listen to him and his bullshit. Wrenching off his hand, you headed into your classroom. You received a few stares, but otherwise, you were just another student. A human student, but still a student. Sneering right back at them, you took your seat and fumed.

You liked learning about Celestial History. You had a friend back home who loved everything related to angels and would burst with joy if she knew they were real. Even if you told her it took five thousand years for a human soul to even be considered eligible for angelhood, it wouldn’t have dampened her hopes.

Speaking of which.

“Oh, it’s you! We heard the news from Diavolo!”

Your head snapped up. “Oh… oh. Hello, Luke, Simeon.”

“Sorry for startling you. Mind if we sit here? Unless one of the brothers is accompanying you for this class?”

You always sat at the farthest corner, away from the crowd. Diavolo said that if more eyes were on you, there’d be fewer chances of you getting kidnapped and dragged off by an overzealous demon. But you didn’t believe that; especially not now.

“That’s fine. Go ahead.” You removed your bag. Two angels were better than one.

“Thank you.”

You nodded. They didn’t know that this arrangement brought you more relief than they.

Which brother took this class with you? You didn’t pursue that train of thought because then you’d have to go through each brother and then you’d remember that tapestry on the left classroom wall looked awfully orange like the drapes in the attic that was a completely different colour but both colours were so bright or were they that bright because that was one of the last things you saw before it turned black—

“Hello?”

“I need a damn shower,” you muttered.

“Had trouble sleeping last night?” Simeon frowned.

“You could say that.” You wrenched your bag open and flipped your notebook to the next blank page. As you bent over, the folds of your pants pressed against your thigh. You usually emptied your pockets before sitting down to avoid this unpleasant sensation.

“…and I still think that’s pretty amazing!”

“Sorry, what?”

He pouted. “Simeon! I told you they weren’t listening!”

You rubbed your temples. “Sorry. I’m… could you repeat?”

“I was _saying_ that what you did was amazing. I don’t think any human could’ve managed what you did!”

“I agree. Getting Lucifer and his brothers to make up is an impressive feat.”

Wow. Validation. No wonder they were angels. It still made you want to shrivel into a hole. “I, uh… yeah. I guess I did that,” you mumbled.

“Indeed. I imagine Belphegor and Lucy are as pleased with the results as the rest of their brothers.”

Yeah, a perfect happy ending for everyone involved in that mess. Just peachy as fuck. Except you, but what was a mere human’s feelings compared to all that? You struggled to focus on something else. Luckily, there was one.

“Lucy?”

“Lucy?!” Luke echoed.

“Oh, whoops, please forget I said that. Old habits die hard, even for Celestials. Lucifer would kill me if he knew this, so just keep that to yourself, please.”

Lucifer, the second-most powerful demon in the Devildom (you thought), the stoic, serious right-hand of the Demon Prince, once called “Lucy”. You snorted. What a thought.

“Haha, I suppose it sounds odd, given his current disposition, doesn’t it? He and his brothers established themselves well here in the past millennia, but I still remember when the morning star was the brightest glory of heaven.”

“And for him and the rest to have fallen so low…”

You listened, intrigued. The angels’ conversation melded well with the ensuing class topics of the figures of the Celestial Hierarchy and how it affected the other realms.

“—and though the Celestial Realm watches over the Human World, they commit divine intervention when absolutely necessary, as they believe it a measure when peaceful resolutions are long past. When was the biggest intervention made?”

Naturally, every demon and angel looked to you, the resident human to answer this question.

“Uh…” Come on, you’ve read bits of the Bible, didn’t you? Despite the fact the first lesson of Celestial History being about how inaccurate some of the passages were? “Um… I don’t know, ‘let there be light and it was good’ part? Jesus Christ.”

“Actually, yes. That is the name he took, the first and only being of the Celestial Realm who took on the form of a human and lived amongst them in the same flesh, to bridge the gap between mankind and the Celestials.”

“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

Simeon grinned at you as the professor talked on amidst the surrounding snickers. You smirked back, amused in spite of yourself.

If only you could enjoy more moments like these without your intrusive memories.

“Ah, there’s Belphegor,” Simeon shook his head as everyone else headed to their next class—except this fucker, who was snoozing on the first seat of the middle row. “Falling asleep during class, as usual. You’d think he’d be more excited to finally return to school.”

Your fight-or-flight instincts drowned out almost everything else; you registered Luke, who was looking at you with concern on his cherubic face. You chose flight.

Too bad you couldn’t outrun an angel, even a young one.

“Hm… you seem tense. And a little depressed.”

Luke tugged at the hem of your jacket. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” your response was knee-jerk. You wouldn’t look at them. “I should get to my next class.”

“You shouldn’t lie to an angel!”

“Yes, well, I’ve done a lot of things I shouldn’t have. Us _humans_ are good at that.”

“Well, why don’t you try talking about it?” Simeon shushed his protégé before he could retaliate. “Counselling our little lambs in times of need is our job, after all.”

That wasn’t patronizing at all, was it? But even with that indignation, you contemplated. So even the demon masses believed only one angel (Celestial Being, whatever) was born as a human? Your existence was proof against that statement. If Simeon and everyone up ‘there’ knew, could you survive? Could your _family?_

“What’s that you said there? … ‘family’, ah! I take it you mean relations are still awkward between Belphegor and his brothers?”

“Those demons never take anything seriously. Don’t worry about it! In a few days, it’ll be like nothing ever happened. That’s how they are.”

“I’m not sure about that, Luke. Even if that’s the case, it still means that Belphie’s having a hard time now.”

You really wanted to get out of this conversation. Your toes were crimping and you dug around your pocket, fingers pressing against cold metal. “Sure, sure, whatever. Can’t you use your magic?”

“Ahahaha! You’d be better off asking Solomon that. I have a better proposition, though: why don’t you serve as a bridge between him and his brothers?”

“Oh! That’s a wonderful idea! To serve as a bridge, just like today’s lecture!”

“Yes, things tend to turn out better when there’s someone in the middle to help smooth things out. It helps find common ground faster and foster understanding. Similar to this exchange program.”

If you dug your fingers any further, your skin would break against the blade. But the pain helped ground you. “Why should I do that?”

“It was a suggestion, not a divine command. I was under the impression that you were on good terms with the brothers.”

Anger and grief fought to override the other, claiming the tremor of your hands. For Christ’s sake! Were you going to turn the angels against you, too? “So did I. Excuse me.”

“Hey, what does that mean? Hey!”

Simeon gently pulled Luke aside. “Hush, Luke. They need time.”

Time? Time?? You didn’t need time. You needed a fucking Glock. Then, one way or another, you wouldn't have to stick around here anymore.

Maybe this was how ghosts felt?

You struggled with class today. Every time it looked as if you could immerse yourself in the course content or immerse yourself into the rhythms of this school like, your mind just… teleported, for lack of a better word. You were in a classroom one moment, attic the next. You stared at a passing (demon) student, who looked nothing like you, after the lunch break. You blinked, then you were staring at your own face, wide-eyed and bloody.

“Ugh, why is that human _staring_ at me?”

At least that comment made you snap out of that real quick.

Remember when your intrusive thoughts consisted of normal stuff like that one time your fly was open during your English presentation and no one said anything until after? Or when you fixed a wedgie against a one-way mirror where your crush happened to be in the adjacent room? Why did they have to involve demons and murder now?

This sucked.

“Hey, dear~ there you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you for _ever!_ ”

“Why.”

That threw him off. You were usually sweet to him.

“I was just—worried, that’s all. Didn’t you check your D.D.D.? I was afraid that you disappeared again.”

“Again. As if I were Lilith.”

“Shush.” He put a finger to your lips, pulling you away from the main corridor. “You shouldn’t go about saying that name outside Lamentation, should you? Depending on who’s listening. Unless it’s just me.”

“But it’s true.” You pushed his hand away. “Look, I’m not in the mood, all right? Leave me alone.”

You ignored his pout and walked. You couldn't outrun a demon, much less outwalk it. But you didn’t hear him going after you. That meant you couldn’t take your anger out on him. Perhaps on a deeper level, you didn’t want to; Asmodeus wasn’t the one you reviled.

Back home, you liked taking walks around campus in-between classes. Parts of your _human_ school were based in the metropolis, but it was also connected to a large park with abundant flora. You could feel the pulse of urban life and the tranquillity of nature in a single evening.

You rubbed your eyes. When was the last time you were less irritable than this? Or tired? You weren’t eating well—you didn’t even eat this morning. But you didn’t want to go back to the Hall of Lamentation, not when you knew it would be dinnertime soon and, as angry as you were, you were still afraid.

“Bridge, my ass,” you grumbled, cursing long and hard. It didn’t help.

You had turned off your D.D.D. and threw it in your bag. The people you actually would’ve given a damn about seeing couldn’t be reached through that piece of junk. Why didn’t Diavolo at least give you a cellphone that could reach the human world?

Oh, right: “We don’t have cell towers that reach the human world. This exchange program is still a fledgling, you see. But with your success, perhaps this can be changed?”

The crafty bastard knew everything right from the beginning. Yet no one called him out for it, did they? Bastards, all of them.

It was always dark here. Occasionally the academy’s surrounding will-o'-wisps glowed a little brighter, which you could only assume was the closest thing this place had to a ‘daytime’. How pasty was your skin going to be after this?

“Hey, it’s the human.”

Human, Lilith. Human, Lilith. What was the point of having your own name?

“Be careful! You want to be the seventy-third demon to follow about a human’s orders?”

Your heart had pounded in fear the first time a demon talked so casually about devouring you. You had feared for your life, then. This time, you reached into your pocket.

“Nah, that’s not Solomon. See? It’s the powerless one.”

Fucking idiots couldn’t even tell two humans apart. You counted, very slowly. If they just walked away—just walk away—you had wanted to be alone for _five fucking minutes_ —

“That ‘powerless one’ made pacts with five of the student council.”

Your grip tightened. You were going to do it. They were going to make you do it. Demons never learned.

“But have you seen it cast a spell before? Come on, this should be easy. Are there any council members around?”

Demons were liars.

“Let me check. There doesn’t seem to be any—”

“Oh, that’s it. I CAN HEAR YOU, YOU FUCKNUGGETS!” You screamed, facing them square in the face. Your letter opener was clutched in your hand and you bent your knees as if preparing to spring.

“You want to eat me, you filthy bitches? Do it! _Do it!_ I dare you!” A few passing students had stopped, staring at you open-mouthed as if you had gone mad.

Which, of course, was entirely possible. At that moment, you honestly didn’t care whether you lived or died. It was hard to when you didn’t have a choice, right? It wasn’t suicide when you had always been a lamb led to the slaughter.

“What’s the matter? Afraid?” You were smiling; you couldn’t help it, although happiness was the last thing you felt. Your nails cut into your palm to stop your fingers from shaking. Your breaths were so shallow it sounded like gasps. You were in control. You got to decide how things ended now; you lurched forward, legs struggling for balance. “Come, try to eat me, you cowardly, disgusting garbage demons—”

You heard your name yelled. But this wasn’t a fucking anime. If it wasn’t your mom calling you, middle name and all, you sure as hell weren’t going to drop everything to turn to the source.

Maybe you were too excited; everything muddled into a haze. The demons backed away as you heard more voices that became indistinguishable to your ears. Something was holding you back and pain shot up your arm. With what remained of your pathetic human strength, you took your free hand and swung. The impact of it connecting with something that felt like flesh gave you your first headrush. Then both of your arms were pinned.

What, was that the best they could do? You kicked and screamed, flailing this way and that, until they had your legs, too. Words deserted you. You shrieked incoherent abuse, banshee-screaming until your voice gave out, and even then, you refused to be silenced. Your voice came in yells, then honks, rasps, rattling with spittle and rage and everything else you had been bottling up.

You were going to face death screaming. When it didn’t come, you hunched over, shaking with coughs. Spit dribbled down your chin and onto your shirt as you struggled to regain breath. Sweat matted your hair in front of your face, which burned like the sun you’d never see again.

“Stay still. Beel, adjust your grip; you’re hurting them.”

Beel? Who was this? The voice was too low to be Asmodeus. Was it that crazy demon? Fuck. You were too tired to fight back now. Why didn’t he come sooner so you could go down fighting? A cool cloth touched your face, wiping away the hair and sweat in your eyes.

Ahh, shit. Lucifer. Was that worse? You rasped another cough that sounded sort of like a greeting before stooping forward with a gurgle, followed by another spasm of retching and wheezing.

“Did you get their names?”

“Yeah.”

Water, you tried to say. Lucifer, who had anticipated your need, held out a bottle. You drank, each sip restoring hydration and higher thought processes. You shuddered, falling back against a wall. Oh, wait, it was Beelzebub’s chest.

Your lungs were too starved for air for you to do anything other than breathe. While your vision sharpened to a passable level of clarity, your head remained fuzzy. It didn’t look like Beel would release you anytime soon.

Beel? Beelzebub. You couldn’t call him ‘Beel’ anymore because that was back when you thought him a friend. No, he would always choose his brothers. Including the murdering one.

When it felt like you could articulate words again, you didn’t ask to go home. You didn’t ask for them to kill you. Lucifer didn’t make a pact with you, and you wouldn’t agree to it. Ever.

Exhaustion (you didn’t know which kind) suffocated the brunt of your wrath, but even if the grief you could possibly inflict on them would be a tickle compared to what you had to go through—even if!

“Tell…” You caught your breath as another wave of nausea threatened to snuff out the last of your consciousness. “Him…”

“What is it?”

“Diavolo—and—murderer—to go fuck themselves," you wrangled each word between pants.

You settled back, eyes drifting out of focus.

Oh, don’t worry. You didn’t lose consciousness. You would have if you forced yourself to speak further, but having said what you wanted to say, you relaxed and let the mineral water take effect. It wasn’t as if you could knock yourself out at the drop of a hat.

“Are you taking them back to the hall?” Satan’s voice.

“Beel, do you need me to accompany you?”

“No, it’s fine.” His hands adjusted under your elbows; your arms and legs were finally released. Not that you could move them for shit at this point.

“Put them in their room. I’ll join you immediately after reporting this to Diavolo. Satan, come with me.”

“Their room?”

“…I don’t think your room would be the best choice for this, Beel.”

“…Right.”

You tried to twist away, but your strength was tanked. You let him carry you, but you closed your eyes, trying to blot out his face. Air whistled past you; it would have been a good view if you had the luxury and senses to enjoy it. As it was, you didn’t say a word as he flew through the Devildom sky. Neither did he.


	3. Rip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A village was destroyed by raiders. A brother and sister who had journeyed to a neighbouring town during the catastrophe returned to the charred remains of their home and grieved.
> 
> "Give us the power to kill who did this."
> 
> "Done," the Devil hissed. "But each of you must give me half of your souls."
> 
> Brother and sister hunted. The raiders fled; they followed. One by one, they were found and given slow deaths.
> 
> The sister wept bitterly for those lost.  
> The brother seethed and raged at the injustice of it all.  
> But they had each other.
> 
> "I didn't specify which," the Devil whispered.
> 
> Anger and Sorrow clawed at each other for their chance of completion and dominance. Neither could live without the other, but now they had only the emotion that had consumed them. The halves that remembered their shared blood was the Devil's due. All that remained were two bound into a single bane that devoured others in its path. When a person succumbed to either passion, their soul was forfeit to both.
> 
> It is said He keeps the true halves apart still.
> 
> _-A folk tale from the human realm. Certain passages are underlined; looks like the book's owner has read this several times._

Anger was an expensive emotion. Your outburst left a drained husk that contained nothing but fatigue. It had been a cathartic release at the time, but now it didn’t feel like that, either. You spaced out, tired and uncaring.

You who once had been the first to break awkward silences between the brothers, always ready to offer words of comfort and encouragement (with varying levels of acidic humour), said nothing as he took off your shoes, laid you down on your bed, and wiped off the rest of your face after having reverted to his humanoid form.

He tried to talk to you. As in, you heard noises come from his general direction that sounded like your name. Or Lilith’s. Or was he talking to himself? You tuned him out, turned your head away from him. Everything was the same noise. Your body ached all over; your shins, elbows, down to the smallest phalange. It hurt to move. There was a dull _pop_ when you opened your mouth, but your jaw wasn’t as stiff. Good. That meant you could still talk. That was all you had left unless they decided to rip out your tongue, too.

A door opened and closed as more voices garbled around you. You debated what to do; remain in this not so unpleasant apathy and ignore this world, or drag your mind into lucidity and with it, your temper.

Actually, it wasn’t something you had to debate on. You were exhausted, but they’d have to do a lot more to beat you down and expect you to stay there.

“Have they eaten anything at all today?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Why wasn’t this taken care of right away?”

“Did you expect us to strap them to a chair and force-feed them? Be reasonable, Lucifer. Even if we _could_ do that, they invoked the pact on Asmo who saw them last. None of us could track their location and with their D.D.D. off it’s a wonder we found them in time.”

You twisted your head; the resulting _cracks_ were satisfying before your muscles twisted in protest, forcing a grunt out your mouth. Gritting your teeth, you pulled your aching body into a sitting position, banging your shoulder into the headboard in the process. The noise and pain helped clear your mind.

I lived, bitches, you considered saying. Then you thought better of it; your frenzy had worn off. Even if you could regain that emotional high enough, Lucifer simply wasn’t the kind of person-demon-whatever that you could just cuss out. Not unless you were sufficiently provoked—or intoxicated.

“Have you got that out of your system?”

“Not enough,” you managed to respond. Everything was stiff all over. Nothing felt broken, at least.

“May I ask what drove you into committing such reckless behaviour?”

“I don’t think you’ll like the answer to that.” You reached for the cup of water you always kept at the nightstand.

Lucifer crossed his arms. “Try me.”

You took your time, taking a long gulp. When your throat could finally carry words without feeling like it was rubbed against a cheese grater, you talked.

“Because I hate this place, I hate all of you, and wanted to stir some shit up just because I could.” Hey, what do you know, you did have enough energy to remain pissed and it was only growing bigger.

Beelzebub winced. Satan pressed his lips.

The eldest shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

His expression would’ve been intimidating once upon a time. “I don’t care.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” His brows creased. “I am aware that you bear a grievance against us demons. It’d be best to discuss and resolve any remaining questions.”

Uh-huh. Guess they were going the asshole route. You’d play. “So do you know where my ‘grievance’ is coming from?”

“I understand that the revelation about your bloodline has come as a shock to you. It has, for all of us.”

“Except Diavolo.” You managed to make his name sound as if it burned your mouth.

“Do not drag him into this,” his voice took on an edge. “I was the one who accepted your application which had set off the resulting chain of events. If we must speak in technicalities, it was I who set the gears in motion.”

You narrowed your eyes. All right, you were doing this. “So you’re the one who tracked down my ancestry and sneaked in an application I never signed up for? Did _you_ make me come here just to solve all of your family issues and make me a replacement Lilith?” Blood rushed to your face again, words made clumsy by rage. “Well, then, _excuse_ me! Shall I congratulate **you** for a mission accomplished—”

“That’s enough!”

“None of you gave a flying fuck about what I went through! You don’t _get_ to decide what’s enough for me!”

“If you cannot compose yourself into having a civil discussion, I’ll—”

“Yeah? Kill me? Wouldn’t be the first time. That’d be better than pretending I’m Lilith, right?” You were talking faster, your mind racing as fast as your heartbeat. And you thought you were winded from your last outburst. You stabbed a finger at Lucifer, his inexorable face reddening your vision with every second. “Better yet, why don’t you send him in? Belphegor? I’ll give you a good show. Y’all can murder me together as a nice family activity and toss my corpse like a goddamn piñata—!”

“I said _enough!_ ” A blast of hot air clouded your face as your joints groaned from the added pressure. You stared into the crimson eyes of the Demon of Pride. The tips of his wings were sprouting from his back and you saw the beginnings of horns poking out his head; the transformation wasn’t complete. But every time you saw the full form, the exuded terror quelled you into silence.

“Lucifer, don’t!”

“Stop it!”

Feathers tickled your face as your skin tingled. Satan and Beelzebub stood directly in front of their brother. Beelzebub’s wings were vibrating so close to you that you felt it on your arm hairs.

“Don’t act on your anger, that’s my domain!” he hissed.

“We can’t lose them again! They helped our family, Lucifer! Don’t do what—what Belphie did! Please!”

Their words must’ve gotten to him, or maybe that display was all for show because, with an ear-splitting _crack_ he was back in his uniform, not a single hair out of place. Only his eyes remained tremulous, the only detail that indicated that anything had happened at all.

“Was this what you wanted? Is that what you thought?”

It wasn’t fair. You didn’t have haunting demon-shapeshifting powers that nullified all arguments. Having felt ten more years shaved off your lifespan, you huddled your knees to your chest. “This is fucked up. Am I really… the only one who remembered dying? I don’t get it. Why did it have to be me?”

You had your arm over your mouth so if the other demons heard you, it should’ve been an unintelligible muffle. You sagged against the headboard, indifferent to the material pressing against your skull. Exhaustion returned to you threefold, along with hunger. You were burning out.

Beelzebub, already disconcerted, became visibly agitated. Satan whispered something into his ear, but he shook his head. As for Lucifer… he was at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but for a fleeting moment, you saw pain.

“Is this why you have attempted to alienate yourself from us?”

You were gonna do more than just _attempt_. You seized on every shred of bitterness, dredging up every lingering resentment you had towards these demons. You had to because you didn’t want to show them anything else, even though you knew it was an uphill battle.

If you didn’t take a deep breath right now, that small, strangled sound would escape your throat. You hoped your voice was cold as you said, “I’m not Lilith. I don’t even know her.”

“We know that,” Satan assured.

“You’re not,” Beelzebub also agreed, a little too quickly, “but we thought Lilith died in battle. We had no idea she lived on as a human, and now—” he fiddled with his cuffs. “—you’re not Lilith. But you’re here because of her.”

“And???”

“All of us know Lilith is gone,” Lucifer reclaimed the conversation. “She was a unique, radiant individual, and to replace her with you because of your shared blood is an insult to you both. No one can replace Lilith. Just as no one can replace you.”

A blinding pain throbbed over your left eye, was only growing bigger as you struggled to cling to hatred. You shouldn’t be grieving. But you knew (or at least, believed you knew) these boys in your room, and they had lost their family. Didn’t humans do the same by tracking down long-lost relatives and childhood friends to find belonging, to fill the void left in their lives? Why should this be any different?

“We—myself included—have done you a great disservice. Lilith was dear to us, and some of us had been closer to her than others. I apologize for not realizing the burdens we unwittingly placed on you.”

Your shoulders slumped. Lucifer seemed sincere, Satan showed nothing but concern, and Beel… Beelzebub wouldn’t look you in the eye. There was no more anger to be had here. Either way, you were the loser no matter how much you fought against it.

“If an apology could fix everything, things wouldn’t have ended up like this,” you tossed back at him.

He did like saying things like that. He smiled a bit. “I suppose so.”

“So.”

“So?”

“How much trouble am I in this time?”

“What do you mean?”

You stared at him. “Those three demons? Though you shouldn’t have stopped me. I had them.”

He frowned again. “You didn’t ‘have’ them. While those three students did plan to instigate an unprovoked assault on you, which puts them in the wrong, this could’ve been avoided entirely if one of my brothers had accompanied you. Which,” he shook his head, glowering, “you had agreed to on the first day of this exchange program.”

“Who was supposed to babysit me?”

“Asmo,” Beelzebub replied. “But you sent him away with your pact.”

“I used the pact? When did I—” _Leave me alone._ “Oh, yeah. I did do that.”

“I respect my brothers’ freedom, but you have a responsibility here as an exchange student and guest to safeguard your wellbeing. Your reckless behaviour can only be accepted for so long.”

This pompous ass.

“Oh no, Lucifer’s lecturing again.” Satan ‘whispered’ to you, grinning. Against your better judgement, the corner of your mouth lifted. After some moments, Lucifer smiled too, albeit thinly.

“Satan has already submitted the names of the perpetrators to Diavolo. Also, I’d like to have an additional word with you in private. Satan, Beel, if you’d excuse us.”

“Sure. Come on, Beel.”

You watched the sixth brother retreat back outside. You heard several whispers outside the door before it closed again.

“Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Dinners with your family had different food, different furniture. Both had the same atmosphere of comfort, the intangible certainty of belonging and the particular domestic bliss that could only be achieved when eating and drinking with those you trusted. Could you retain that once the last chair at the table was filled?

“Would you force me to go if I said no?”

His face fell, but you were more annoyed than guilty. Did he seriously expect you to go: “hoihoi sure, nothing like eating with someone who _didn’t_ kill me because of Lilith”? How stupid did he think you were?

“I suspected as much. But no, I won’t force you.”

“You’ll drag me to some stupid party but you’re fine with me eating in my room?”

“The ‘stupid party’ you’re referring to is Diavolo’s birthday celebration. He’s the crown prince of Devildom if you’ve forgotten. He has extended you a personal invitation, as he did to the rest of my brothers. You will not insult him.”

“Figures.”

“I cannot tolerate dissent against Diavolo of any kind.” Yeah, yeah, you knew why. “But aside from his direct will—I have no desire to enforce what needn’t be. You’re angry and hurt—and I understand. I will have meals sent to your door starting tomorrow.”

“Works for me.”

“You’re welcome. And one more thing.”

He placed his hand on your head and patted your hair. That gesture alone was enough to startle you. What was he getting at? He said your name in a voice that had the colour of sunrise.

“You’re of Lilith’s blood, but everything you did so far was of your own doing. You made yourself a place here, forged pacts with my brothers, and thus became important to all of us because you earned it through your decisions. You’re _not_ Lilith and in time, the others will come to understand this as I do.”

You expelled your breath. “About time someone got it. Could you beat it into the rest, too?”

He laughed. “I have a feeling you’d like to do that yourself.”

“I’m not a demon. Or an angel.”

“Yes,” he ruffled your hair with what looked like affection. You weren’t sure. Demons were sometimes scary when they smiled. “You most certainly are not.”

“Oh, yeah? How’re you so sure?”

“Angels and demons don’t have a vocabulary nearly as… colourful as yours.”

You didn’t believe that for a second. “Really.”

“I’ve never heard the term ‘fucknugget’ used in the Devildom until recently.”

“Aw, shit.” You weren’t sure whether to cringe or laugh; never thought you’d hear that word coming out of him.

“Perhaps we should update the human world’s archives with your lexicon. You will be appropriately credited.”

You swatted his hand away with some more samples from your colourful vocabulary.

“Are you certain you want to go to the kitchen? I can take a portion of today’s dinner and bring it to your room.”

You exhaled through your nose before opening your mouth to speak. “I need to check what’s in the fridge. Also, I’m starving. Everyone else is at the table, right? I’ll just run to the kitchen, grab some stuff, and leave.”

This was a good sign. You couldn’t eat when you were upset. It’s been less than a day and you felt like Beelzebub. Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony. Beelzebub, who loved Lilith the most, and probably wanted desperately to see her in you. And it wasn’t just him who felt that way. Thinking about one meant thinking about the other by default. Because they were twins.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m good.” You really had to stop going back to those memories. “I’m fine. I’m just really hungry. I’m going to change first.”

“Very well.”

It wasn’t possible to erase memories from your mind. Rather, trying to forget them made them stronger, which would only prolong your torment. Maybe there was something here that could help?

You made a mental note to check the library tomorrow. This _was_ the demon realm; you might find some convenient magic or some shit.

You stretched, the pain oddly therapeutic. You shook your head. It had felt good to release all that frustration inside. Throwing your uniform into the hamper, you threw on your pair of shorts (the good one, with deep pockets) and a shirt.

No one told you where your letter opener was. Eh, you probably wouldn’t see that thing for the rest of the year.

You heard the rabble of a typical dinner in the Hall of Lamentation: casual banter, clinks of cutlery against dishes. For a moment, you listened with the realization that you would miss out on this for a good while—the rest of the year, more like. You set your jaw. You were going to leave soon regardless.

The kitchen was empty; just the way you liked it. On the counter was a sizable portion of what looked like a casserole with… stuff and over there that looked like… more stuff. Hey, you weren’t going to be picky about it. You grabbed this and that, whatever appeared edible enough.

“My, my. So not only did you rudely push me away this morning, darling, but you’re also stealing food? We already have Beel for that, don’t we?”

Shit. You almost dropped your food.

“I’m not stealing.”

“No? You’re snooping around like you are. But I _totally_ understand why you wouldn’t want to join the table.”

You doubted that. Reluctantly, you turned to face him. “Shouldn’t you be eating back there?”

He smiled. Then his face dropped into one of horror as he reached out for your arm. “What in the Devildom have they _done_ to you?!”

Kidnapping and multiple murder attempts, mostly. “What?”

“I mean _this!_ Look at this! Who did this to you?” He traced your skin—oh. Ohh. Now you saw it. It would’ve been weirder if your body _didn’t_ have any marks after your futile struggle. Already your hand and forearm had brightly coloured splotches. So it wasn’t muscle pain. Would you look at that. It was actually slightly impressive.

You retracted your hand from his. Were you uncomfortable because you were self-conscious or was it the ongoing PTSD that made you averse to demons touching you?

“I’m fine. Go eat.”

“And just leave you like this? Tell me who did this, but wait, before that, let’s go back to my room. I have just the things that’ll help.”

“I said I’m fine.” Annoyingly, you remembered how you pushed him away this morning. Great, now you felt guilty. You couldn’t get angry at him when you felt guilty. “I’m going to go eat in my room.”

Guilt or no, you were prepared to use the pact if he insisted on dragging you to the table. If that made you a coward, so be it. Instead, he replied, “Fine. Then I’ll just come to your room after! You can’t leave your skin like this!” and flounced back to the hall before you could tell him no.

In the privacy of your room, you ate. You scarfed down everything you brought so fast that some spilled onto your shirt. Shit. That had been a fresh shirt, too. But who was around to see it? You stared at the shirt before wiping your lips on it with a self-satisfied smirk. It wasn’t _your_ shirt, you reminded yourself as you pulled it over your head and flung it aside.

“Oh, hot _damn.”_

You saw them in the mirror as you brushed your teeth. You still didn’t remember what— _who_ you hit, but both legs had taken the most damage, your right arm slightly better. Bits of memory came back to you: your shin banging against a torso, knee colling into a stomach. Already the red blotches were beginning to darken with the promise to discolour into spectacular bruises.

Of course, none of the demons would have even a scratch. That wasn’t vexing at all. At least your vitals were fine.

Should you cover them? Your toe tapped against the tile; sharp, short sounds. Why should you? Your skin wasn’t broken and it hurt to have anything heavier than air on them. You weren’t here to impress anyone.

Your room was going to smell if you left the food container on your desk. You shrugged, throwing yourself onto your bed before you could consider what that would mean for your poor body.

The ensuing agony from the impact was a testament to your stupidity. You yelped, curled into the fetal position, cursed, then laughed at the absurdity of it all. At least you didn’t forget how to laugh at yourself.

“I’m not buyin’ it, Lucifer! Why wouldn’t they want to eat with us anymore?!”

“Mammon, I told you, they need time to adjust. We need to reconsider our past actions as well. Marching to their door and demanding answers won’t make them open to conversation.”

“You don’t know them! I was the first!”

“You were the first to **make a pact** with them. And being first doesn’t mean anything when you’ve given them literally **no reason** to trust you with your incompetence.”

“So why are _you_ going to their door, Asmo?”

“I said I’d take care of them! They didn’t say no, so I have my extra-special skin-care kit with me!”

“I don’t think all of us barging in at once is going to end well.”

“Hey!” The door rattled with a series of pounds. “What’s going on in there! Come on out!”

You glared. Were all of them outside? Five out of seven, you could command them to go away and leave you alone. You weighed the options, the possible consequences. Then your exasperation that was threaded with amusement, evaporated with the next words you heard through the door.

“You all right, Belphie?”

Your instinct screamed. Fight or flight? Why was he here? _Fight or flight?_

“Mm… yeah. Just tired. If you really want to get them out, why not destroy the wall? Beel, didn’t you do that before?”

“That was an accident.” Said very low.

“Hey! Wake up! We know you’re not sleeping!”

“Then why’d you tell them to wake up?”

You were going to fight. You grabbed a broom.

 **Wanna have this shoved up your ass?** was what you wanted to say. Right before you slammed the door open, part of your brain decided you should say **Get fucked**. What you _almost_ ended up saying was **Get your ass shoved up your fuck**. And hoo boy that would’ve been embarrassing, so you caught yourself in time, opened the door, and bellowed—

“Wanna FUCK?”

And this was why you liked to practice what to say _before_ you said it.

“Uh… um…”

“…”

“That’s very straightforward of you, but you didn’t need to ask. I have an open-door policy,” Asmodeus winked with a cheeky grin. “But I think we should start with skincare, first, unless you insist on… something else.”

“What _happened_ to you?” Shock, and then anger. “Who **did** this to you?”

“Fuck! Don’t touch it, it hurts!” You shouted, jerking your hand back from Mammon.

You were wearing an undershirt and shorts—it was harder to _not_ see. Now everyone was staring at you; fantastic.

He was talking to Lucifer now. “Did those asshole demon students do this to them? Gimme their names, I’ll show ‘em their own insides for this!”

“Stop yelling!” You whacked him with the business end of your broom. “Why is everyone gathered outside my door? What do you guys want?”

“Mammon here was so worried about you. He wouldn’t shut up about it during dinner; he kept looking at the door waiting for you to come like a lost puppy. If you give him a big hug now I bet he’ll die a happy demon, but, ah… you don’t need to do that. Let’s look at your arm, first.”

“I _wasn’t_ doing that! That is… I mean… damn it, yeah, I was worried! You’re… you’re _my_ human, aren’t ya? That’s right you’re my responsibility! I’m stuck with you, whether you like it or not! So what’s the deal with today, huh? And tell me who did this to you! I’ll kick their asses!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up. Are you guys coming into _my_ room?”

“Oh! Oh~ you wanted to _do it_ in my room? I should’ve known.”

“Asmo, shut the hell up.” To you, “I know now’s not a good time, but… they were worried about you.”

“‘They’? Don’t try to put yourself out of this. You were worried too, Satan.”

You never actually thought of them as your uncles; you had enough real ones. In hindsight, it was a petty jibe. If you resumed it now, would they fuck off for a bit?

“All of you, that’s enough. Please put the broom down. Asmodeus, go help them with their injuries. Rest of you, come with me. We’re going to have a discussion on refining our conduct.”

“Oh, wow. A lecture from Lucifer. Brings back memories.”

“I don’t know why you’re so happy about this, Belphie.”

“Grr! Why does _he_ get to stay with them?”

“Because he’s the one who has the stuff.”

You didn’t hear the rest of their complaints; your eyes _had_ to lock with Belphegor’s. Well, you could only see one of his eyes clearly, but his hair didn’t cover the rest of his face. Was he smiling? Or smirking? Was he appearing unreadable on purpose to try and trick you again?

He knew you were afraid; it showed in the sweat on your forehead and the involuntary tense of your muscles. He saw your fear and laughed at it without making a sound. For an appalling instant, you thought him to be on the verge of speech.

He didn’t, smiled at you and then at his twin as the latter put an arm around his shoulders. You recoiled as a hand rested lightly on your shoulder.

“Are you ready?”

You studied Asmodeus, willing your heartbeat to return to its normal rate. It was just him now.

“You’re adorable. Don’t worry, I won’t bite—this time. Even though we finally have enough privacy to… ahem… but tonight is strictly for pampering you. If your first proposition is still on the table, I’d gladly accept.”

He said he couldn’t charm you, but the flow and ebb of his words hadn’t changed. As if everything was like before, back when things were better, back when everything didn’t end in death and Lilith and you had thought of this place, however briefly, as home.

He hummed as he pulled out jars and vials of who-knows-what onto your bed. Finding one, he held out his hand. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this? Don’t worry, it’s Aloe Vera. It’s in the human world, too. It’s good for swelling and as a **lubricant** in case you were wondering.”

You shouldn't have laughed. It wasn’t even that funny. “I wasn’t.”

“No? But you’re smiling now.” He dipped his fingers. “And _I’m_ the one who put it there. Now, what will you give me in return, hmm?”

“Do you want me to hit you with the broom?”

“Putting me on the same level as Mammon!” He held his hand to his chest, a mock-incredulous sound escaping his lips. “That’s an insult to me and my beauty, you know.”

You gasped as the gel hit your skin. You weren’t aware how much your bruises had inflamed your skin, but God, your very pores were sighing in relief as he spread it over your arm.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ohh, hell yes.”

“Are you trying to tempt me? The sounds coming from you are very distracting; we _do_ have some privacy. Would you like me to fulfill your primary request?”

“My what?” Oh, now you remembered. That was going to be a memory that’d keep you awake at night for the next forty years. “Forget I said that. Just—erase that from your mind. That wasn’t what I meant to say.”

He shook his head. “You tease. But don’t worry, that’s another thing that attracts me to you.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly beautiful, you mean.” He tsked as he scanned your arm. “This is a shame. Really. Your skin was so smooth.”

You shrugged. “The skin’s not broken, Asmo.”

Oh. You called him Asmo. You wished you hadn’t, didn’t want to sound as if you were back on normal terms as if all of them could be forgiven.

“It’s not, but just look!” he wailed. “Such a waste. And you still didn’t tell me what happened. You know,” he adjusted his grip and gave you a wounded look. “Isn’t there something you’d like to say to me?”

“I don’t suppose ‘I love you’ would work a second time? Ow!”

“Whoopsie, my bad. But I don’t know if I can accept hearing ‘uncle’ from you ever again. Now spread your legs for me.”

“I’m… _not_ going to do that.”

“Good! I never want to hear you call me anything other than ‘Asmo’, got it? I do love it when you call my name.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

The first time you bruised your shin was last year when, like a dumbass, you allowed your gym nut friend to talk you into dropping by at his weekly MMA club session. The one kick you managed to pull off in-between being tossed about like a sack of potatoes, you had smashed your shin into your partner’s ribcage.

This one was smaller than that time, at least. Still, it was funny. You were sorta proud of it.

“You have very nice legs. I wonder how they’d feel wrapped around my hips?”

“Asmo.”

“Hmm~ hmmm? Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just thinking out loud.”

He was honest, you’d give him that. Which meant you could do no less, especially with him.

“Do you see me as Lilith?”

“Should I try not to?”

You reached for your broom.

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty! I can’t stand having dust in my hair. But I love Lilith, almost as much as myself. And I love you. You have her blood, so in a way, it’s like having both of you with me.”

“Do you seriously not realize how fucked up that is?”

“I’m the Avatar of _Lust_ , darling. I’ve done many things that you might find questionable, but it’s all relative in the end.”

“So what’s wrong with calling you uncle? Or great-uncle? That’s what you _are_ , aren’t you? Oh, don’t glare at me like that—holy _shit_ that’s cold!”

“My hand slipped,” he slathered it over your leg, unrepentant. “How could you be so mean?”

That’s what you should be asking him. But this dumbass demon wasn’t going to get it through his head. How did Solomon manage to make a pact with this piece of shit?

“If I slept with you and screamed someone else’s name, you won’t get pissed?”

You heard an incensed squeak and a lot of noises that tried to form words. Good. You were only getting started.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d get pretty pissed. Imagine being in bed, and the first thing I say is how I was thinking about your brother the whole time—you guys are related, so of course I’d think of their naked bodies, too. Sounds fair, doesn’t it? Or maybe someone almost as beautiful as you? What about Simeon?”

“You _never_ play fair!”

Did anyone play fair in Devildom? Come on.

“Now this is driving me mad! Have you? Have you thought of anyone other than me when we were alone together? That’s right, when you made all of those pacts—” he gasped as if it were the endtimes. “—was it Belphie? Were you thinking only about him?”

Your mind calculated; how much of their reality did you share? Ah. The scene in the study never happened in this world, then. No wonder you were feeling the déjà vu. Fucking Belphegor. You wished Barbatos kept the part where he was in demon jail and left him to rot.

“Jealous?”

“Of _course_ I’m jealous!” he huffed. “I admit, Lucifer is incredibly handsome, but when it’s just the two of us, I want you to look at me, and only at me… ugh!”

You didn’t answer, just gave him a long, level look.

“Oh, fine, I get it, I get it…” He raised both of his hands. “You’ve made your point. You’re just you.”

“Glad I didn’t have to beat it into you.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” You moved your hands, turned your legs this way and that. The aloe and other crap he put on you made them numb, but you could still move. You stood up. “Thanks.”

“If you want to come to my room, I have some cream that I need to put on my back.”

“I have homework. Get out.”

No. There was one more thing you wanted to ask him.

“Asmo. Does that—your brother— _Belphegor_ —” you spat the name like venom. “—going to bother me?”

“Heh? Oh… I don’t know. He was interested in talking to you. Belphie’s a bit of an odd one, though. And given that he was away for so long—it’ll work out. But I’ll keep him away from you. You can count on me.”

“…Satan told you.”

“Don’t be mad,” he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “We’re a lot more sensible than Mammon, don’t you think?”

That wasn’t a high bar. As much as you wanted to say that, you held back. Why? Because having two demons who could be counted on to protect you from other monsters was better than one. That increased your odds of getting out of here and going back home.

Plus, while the whole garbage with Lilith was irksome and the axe-crazy brother would haunt you for life, you recognized something that even your wildest anger couldn’t overpower: betrayed and furious as you were, you still cared. You just weren’t sure if it was enough to put your feelings behind it.

“My dear,” his hand was unwilling to leave you. “My brothers are varying degrees of idiocy and scum. But as much as I despise a select few of them, I’m stuck with them. With you… sometimes I feel like you matter more to me than myself. Silly, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” you played along.

“I know! The thought alone is scandalous.”

You shook your head. Leave it to Asmo to make things feel as if nothing changed. You sighed, stepped closer, and pecked him on the cheek—it was a bit closer to his lips than you intended, but his expression? Still funny. And cute. You shoved him back before he got ahead of himself.

“Never change, Asmo.”

“You want to continue this in my room?”

“Nope. Now get out of here.” With a smirk and a thrust, you were alone again, feeling a lot better than you should for being surrounded by demons that devoured human souls. Maybe things would get better from here.

Too bad demons hounded you even in your dreams.

_“He fucking killed my family! Mom—Dad! Mom!”_

_“Please forgive Belphie. He was especially close to Lilith. He blamed the human Lilith fell in love with.”_

_“Those—those were my friends! Beel, no, stop!”_

_“I’m hungry. Hey, this human is pretty tasty.”_

_“Don’t eat it just yet, Beel. Human brains go well with grilled belladonna and spiced lamb blood.”_

_“Oh, one’s getting away! We can’t have that~ come here, it’s an honour to be chosen by me. It won’t hurt… much! Hee hee!”_

_“This is why humans are so weak. The younger ones are better, though. So tender.”_

_“Hey, Belphie, aren’t you going to get that one?”_

_“Of course I am. I was saving that for last. Yes, you’re the last one standing, human. Aren’t you going to try to run?”_

_“…”_

_“Hmph. Boring. Your kind killed Lilith. Not that you’d understand. Just die already.”_

_“Please save Belphie. You’re the only one who can.”_

You didn’t scream when you woke up, you just… stared at the ceiling. Your sleep was seldom troubled aside from the occasional nightmare. That’s how uncluttered your life had been before this mess.

The sheets clung to your body as you peeled them off. It smelt like stale food. Shit. You never put away the container. 

You were irritated, but only briefly. You had dreamed of your family before, dreamt that you had lost them, or that they were far away in a place beyond your reach. Now you had dreamt of them brutally torn apart and killed by demons.

God… no. What’s the point of calling His name? He was the last being who’d help you.

You were too old to confuse a nightmare as premonition but young enough to yearn for those appeared in the dream. You wanted your friends. You wanted to feel your parents’ embrace, wanted them desperately. But they were in the human realm, and you wouldn’t see them for several more months. Even your annoying prick of a brother would’ve been on your side. How did they expect you to last a full year (human or otherwise) without getting to talk to them once?

But tonight… tonight, you’d have given almost anything to have even one of them here; never had you needed them so much.

Every time you stepped out of your room, you bumped into some demon. But at this point, you’d take the demon over the confinements of your room, the walls that shrank around you as it blended with unfriendly shadows.

It was going to be another long night.

Relying on the sparse moonlight, you grabbed the closest sweater, sniffed it to make sure it wasn’t the shirt you wiped your mouth with before putting it on. Grabbing the reeking container and the cutlery, you tiptoed out to the kitchen, ignoring the pain in your sides, your legs, and… well, everything.

You walked to the kitchen, making each step with warlike determination. Any demon in your way, you used your pact to keep them off you. And the ones who didn’t, you’d use this nasty fork to stab their eyes out. Part of you wanted to face that crazy demon. This time you weren’t going to freeze and wuss out, you vowed.

What if there were ghosts?

_The Hall of Lamentation is said to have the ghosts of a family that was slaughtered though no one knew the truth. But it’s just a story. No need to be scared, pfft._

You almost turned back. You could’ve turned back a lot of times and it wouldn’t have ended up like this. You could’ve stayed the fuck away from the attic like Lucifer told you. You could’ve stayed in your room at the retreat and not enter that stupid labyrinth. You could’ve refused to enter that time loop. You could’ve—would’ve—should’ve—

You headed to the kitchen. You saw him squat in his usual place, his head bobbing as he helped himself to the contents of the fridge. Careful to set everything into the sink without making a sound, you began to sneak away.

“Hey—”

“Nope, not today.” You broke into a sprint, the soles of your feet slapping against the floor. “Not today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, this chapter isn't too much of a disappointment. In my experience, anger is a powerful emotion that's very exhausting to maintain, especially at a consistently high intensity. It's my experience that after the peaks, reality sets in. MC's reality is that they're alone, whatever support system they had back home is gone, and they really can't do much in a pit of overpowered demons and that their anger comes from grief, which needs to be aired, too. And if that's a disappointment—not much I can do about that.
> 
> I'm still working on second-POV: a form of writing in which the point of view of a narrative work is told in the voice of the onlooker, which is you, the reader. I admit I'm not sure if I'm doing this whole concept right, please bear with me.
> 
> You guys make writing this story very worthwhile. Knowing that there are people out there who enjoy this story that really started from irritation makes me want to keep going. Thank you LadySandy & ForeverAlone5, your comments made my day.
> 
> I admit I'm new to this fandom. I read several stories but I know little to nothing about what characters are better to write, what dynamics are popular, etc. If there are some general pointers I should look out for that people can tell me, I'd be very grateful. Otherwise, hope you enjoyed


	4. Rueful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you were made a student at RAD (Yes, so rad, so cool, so hip) and a resident at the Hall of Lamentation, you did the work. You worked to make pacts with these demons. You talked to them, annoyed them, earned their respect and trust, for the six brothers you were assigned to. You risked your life as if you had a thousand more to spare. You made every relationship between these brothers smooth out.
> 
> Now, it was their turn to earn your trust back. Hell, it didn't even need to be trust. No, if they could give you any reason why they deserved basic respect from you, you'd take it.
> 
> There were demons whose jaws you'd break without a second thought (if only you _could_ ) and then there were demons you couldn't punch if you could help it—due to various reasons.

You missed a lot of things from the human world as much as the people. If someone asked what you wanted most, right now, you might have said music. Everything else, well, you adapted to the Devildom equivalents: movies, washing machines, improvised weapons. You had lasting respect for classical and orchestral music (along with its relevant genres, which these demons seemed to prefer) but you missed your shitty playlists filled with childhood throwbacks and trashy beats.

It was two days and you weren’t getting enough sleep. The witching hour hung heavy on your hands and reading didn’t help. You needed grounding thoughts, points of reason that kept you from going off the deep end. Your phone usually took care of that; you might as well reach for the next best thing.

Well, fuck: couple dozen missed calls and messages.

You knew the general content but you scrolled through them anyway. All variations of _Where are you?, All of us were really worried about you, don’t keep us waiting, How have you been? I wonder if you’re doing okay ღවꇳවღ_ (wtf was that emoji, Simeon), and a bunch of stickers conveying various states of concern and exasperation.

The reasonable option would be to delete them all. It was what any mature person would do. But did these assholes deserve that grace? Did you even _have_ any grace to spare at what felt like three in the morning?

**< Lucifer**

_Are you heading straight home after class?_

_You wouldn’t happen to be running off on a lark, would you?_

_The Devildom is no place for a human to be waltzing about with purpose. I hope today’s ordeal taught you that._

_Lmao k_

**< Mammon**

If you had a Grimm for every sticker and message he spammed you with, you’d have enough money to pay him to leave you alone. He sent you the most messages (no surprise there) and you just got annoyed as fuck with each redundant message.

_Stop spamming me. I said I’m fine._

_And I’m not_ **_your_ ** _human. Stop fucking calling me that._

**< Leviathan**

_How far are you in Mononoke Land? Do you want to play together?_

_I guess you calling me ‘uncle’ is the same as me calling you ‘normie’… but do you really have to call me that? We’re_ **true friends**! _We were true friends even before it turned out you were Lilith’s… well… it’s the perfect tie-in, better than any anime! This way we’re more than true friends! It’s perfect._

_Are you giving me the silent treatment in the hopes I come after you?_

_Come on, please, let’s play! I’ll even let you use my lucky controller!_

_No thanks,_ Uncle _Leviathan. Lilith doesn’t like it when I play games with creepy uncles._

**< Satan**

_Where are you? Asmo said you gave him the slip. Please don’t do anything reckless._

_I’m currently with Lucifer and Beel. They’re very worried, please respond._

_As hurtful as that was, I know you didn’t mean all that you said. But Beel took it very hard. I understand your feelings but it’d help if you could tell him that._

_I hope you don’t mind, but I told Asmo about what’s going on. As frivolous as he is, I don’t think it’ll hurt, he’s actually decent. Just don’t tell him I said that or he’ll lord it over me for the next 1000 years._

_Let me know if you need another midnight cup of tea._

_Pretty sure if it weren’t for you I’d have shot this place up already._

_If I get out of this hellhole I’ll buy you a drink._

**< Asmodeus**

_Playing hard-to-get is amusing if done properly. But if I don’t catch you, Lucifer’s going to get angry!_

_I sooo want to go to Majolish and try on some cute new clothes! Do you want to come with me after class?_

_Come on, don’t ignore me! Solomon said you looked tired. Not getting enough sleep? I can help you with that~_

_Darling, Lucifer found out. I hope you’re satisfied with the lecture I’m going to get!_

_Ah, I see. Don’t worry, I’m the fifth-eldest as it is. Belphie doesn’t have a chance against me!_

_You’re cruel to the end, sweetheart. I hope we get to continue this soon, with more than just a kiss~❤_

_You weirdo. No promises._

**< Beelzebub**

_Please, please answer. You can’t just leave us like this._

_I got Belphie back. You brought our family back together, thanks to Lilith. Why aren’t you happy?_

_You helped us and now I want to help you back. Why won’t you talk to us?_

_I felt so bad for not knowing Belphie was locked away. Lucifer did it to protect him, yet I didn’t know anything. I never know anything. Can you tell me how I can help you?_

_Is your hand okay?_

_What you said, you didn’t mean it, right? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t_

_If only I came sooner_

_If only Belphie didn’t_

_I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. What can I do? Tell me what I can do to fix this._

_Belphie’s sorry, too. I’ll apologize for him. Please come back. I miss your food, I miss you. I promise I won’t call you Lilith._

_Beelzebub. Don’t. Just… don’t._

**< Belphegor**

When the hell did he get your number? You resisted the urge to fling the D.D.D. out the window—barely. 

_This is Belphie._

_Beel gave me your contact info. You don’t need to respond. Everyone except me got to spend time with you. I didn’t get my time so I’m going to try to hang around you as much as I can, get to know you better. You’re OK with that, right?_

_Hey, Lucifer dragged Beel to look for you. Hope you don’t get eaten. Heh._

_I can’t get a wink of sleep. Beel’s depressed and it’s starting to affect me, too. We’re twins, after all. We have a special connection._

_You should’ve told me. I didn’t realize you still remembered and that… it still hurt you. I’d say I’m sorry, but… I guess that wouldn’t even begin to cover what I did._

_Eat dick you fucking cunt._

_Stay the fuck away from me._

**< Simeon**

_Has my advice backfired? If I’ve offended you, I’d like to apologize |･ω･)ﾉ_

_Did something happen between you and the brothers? （◞‸◟）_

_They keep trying to kill me._

_Let’s not talk about this anymore._

_And stop using weird emojis._

**< Diavolo**

_Can you come to my office tomorrow morning for a quick chat?_

_Nah._

You couldn’t remember when you finally fell asleep, but you had closed your eyes briefly from the screen glare; the next breath, you awoke with a jolt as Lucifer knocked at your door.

“Are you awake? I’ve brought you your breakfast.”

“Mphuh…” You pried open the door. Your head was deadweight. “Thanks. Aren’t you going to get going now?”

“Diavolo has requested a private conversation with you after your meal.”

You blinked. “So that means I don’t have a choice.”

“Good. You catch on quickly. Be ready in a half-hour.” He took your hand, inspecting it with a deepening frown. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Obviously not. I’m surprised you even asked.”

He stopped you from closing the door with his hand. “If you need anything, you’ve but to ask.”

What you really needed—no; you shook your head. Nowadays, every train of thought led to the same destination you desperately wanted to avoid. “I’ll be out in a bit. Keep the door closed.”

“I’ll be waiting outside.” He closed it behind him.

Half an hour. Psh. More than enough time to throw in a shower.

You liked hot showers. Your bruises did not. Your bruises liked cold water. The rest of your body did not. After some fuming and finagling to keep those specific areas hot water-free, you gave up and dried yourself off. At least you smelled better. What was the bottle labelled? Ah, ‘Styx Roses’. A classic, Asmo had said.

Hairdryers; Asmo was better with those than you ever would be. You swiped at your hair with a towel; that should get most of the water out. It still dripped; oh well.

You didn’t like your spare uniform; it was a size too large and you had to wear a belt to keep everything from sliding off. The pants were manageable; it was kinda flowy although it dragged at the hem. The shirt you kept together with your tie and willpower. The jacket you didn’t even bother, tying it around your waist and doubt-knotting the sleeves so it didn’t escape. How pretentious was this school to have its uniform jackets to have gold beads embedded with war medal-like nonsense and shoulder capes?? Impracticality at its finest.

You had to roll your sleeves back to eat. What a mood.

Breakfast was lukewarm, but you ate it with considerable relish. Did Lucifer make this? Satan? Shadow Goose Eggs always had this… weird aftertaste (Levi said it was the ‘shadow’), but you liked Eggs Benedict any day. Or whatever they called it around here.

Your notes, textbooks—yep, you had almost everything. Your D.D.D., which was still vibrating with more messages, you stuffed into your… incredibly huge pants pocket. Hopefully it didn’t get lost in there. You couldn’t very well bring your broom, so you skimmed the shelves for the next best thing you’d have to settle for: a pen. Not as reliable but it’d work in a pinch.

“Ah. Just in time. How was breakfast?”

“Pretty good. All right, let’s go meet His Highness.”

He grabbed your arm; he was lucky it wasn’t the bruised one. “I would like to remind you of the conduct you should have when facing Diavolo.”

You scowled. You waited.

“Remember, you are here as part of Diavolo’s student and our guest. Act accordingly.”

“I’ll have to practice my curtsey.”

His grip tightened, enough to make you wince as he leaned closer. “If I must take the time and trouble to teach you what you should and should not do in front of Diavolo, I can promise you it will not be a lesson to your liking.”

You glared back, almost opened your mouth to release the accusations that blistered your tongue. But the words caught in your throat as your body reacted in instinctive understanding to what you saw within his eyes, a small raw flame that measured, appraised, made a promise that was, in every sense, a very real threat.

“Hello, Lucifer. Thank you for taking the trouble to escort our exchange student.”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

 _Escort._ As if you were a criminal. Lucifer had to nudge you before you realized they were expecting you to answer.

“How have you been doing? Any problems with school?”

“None,” you mumbled. Your hair was still wet, the excess moisture absorbed by the back of your shirt. Was there anything you could say that _wouldn’t_ piss Lucifer off? Probably not. You kept your mouth shut, wondering why they even bothered. You focused, instead, on the lamp against the opposite wall while giving the most unwilling of monosyllabic responses. It was a hideous-looking lamp and—was the pole a femur?

You wished they hurried up with this interrogation. The longer you faced them, the more likely you lost control and cause an inter-realm incident. You felt uncomfortably scruffy, defensive, apprehensive, and defiant, all at once.

“Have a seat. Barbatos, if you can get some tea for our guests?”

You didn’t like demon tea parties. The last one had ended with your face in the toilet.

“Don’t worry about your classes. The professor in charge has taken sick leave and the rest of the students are using this spare for quiet study. I heard from Lucifer you’re making admirable progress in your studies.”

You gave a stiff nod. You didn’t touch the tea. It felt like you were five years old all over again, forced to be at your great-aunt’s house while the adults chatted. ‘If your lips pout out any further, you’ll become an ugly duckling’, they had said. Well, you felt like one now. And just like then, you were too pissed off to care.

“Lucifer, I’d like to speak to them alone,” Diavolo said abruptly.

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

Oh, so _now_ he was uncomfortable! But he did leave, giving a look that was as ominous as it could get, closing the door behind him with obvious reluctance. You continued staring at the ugly lamp.

“Ah, Lucifer,” he shook his head. “You might not see it, but he’s very pleased that his family’s back together.”

You said nothing. You had spent enough time with the brothers—except one—to have a rough grasp on what made them tick, what to say that would calm them, delight them, irritate them. You knew you’d turn every demon against you if you pissed off the boss man, but other than that, the demon prince was an unknown.

“Are you frightened?” A light chuckle. “Don’t be. I have a spell cast around my office, you see. Nothing you say will be heard by anyone outside.”

How the fuck was that supposed to make you less frightened? That meant you could be easily stabbed, left to die, and no one would notice. You let your hate flicker, fade back; once more you felt numb, even welcomed this lack of feeling that would enable you to face everything with indifference, even death with contempt.

He called your name. You didn’t respond. After everything that happened, your attention was the last thing he deserved.

“The Young Master has asked you a question.”

Oh, right. This minion guy was here, too. Barbados, was it? You had wanted to go there for summer vacation. Leave it to demons to ruin holiday destinations for you with their dumbass names. Your eyes flickered to the ceiling.

“What answer do you want from me?”

“I’d like you to talk to me instead of to the walls. The whole point of the exchange program is to communicate and understand each other better. That’s why I created it, despite vehement opposition from _certain_ demons.”

Your apathy shattered as your breath escaped you in a sibilant hiss.

“You used me to fix a family together. Understanding? You didn’t even care for my life.”

“If anything happened to you, I would be the one to blame. I knew that full well when I brought you here and I was prepared to accept the consequences.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’d have bothered you at all.”

_Out of the billions of people in the world, out of the dozens of relatives that shared the blood of a fallen angel, why you?_

“On the contrary, it’d have bothered me very much. You see, you’ve become a very important person to all of us, here in the Devildom.”

“Which really could’ve been filled in by literally anyone who’s descended from Lilith,” you snapped back. “Everything I did didn’t count for shit, just my blood.” Prince or no, you were fed up with bullshit after bullshit. “You must be very proud of yourself for engineering this series of events.”

“I can’t say I’m not pleased with most of the results, no. But I did not bring you here simply to torment you. With Lucifer and his brothers, I trusted you to be in safe hands.”

“How very generous of you.”

“I wanted Lucifer and his brothers to be happy. They loved their sister more than the Celestial Realm that had been their home, and now look; they’ve changed. Lucifer no longer has to shoulder the burden alone. You’ve had a wonderful effect on us all, more than I ever could have hoped, and while your lineage helped, it wasn’t the driving factor.”

“So what?”

You had listened with incredulous anger, anger that burned all the more fiercely for your inability to act on it. That was it, then? You were just an experiment to inspire brotherly feelings upon these demons. In your mind’s eye, a nightmarish horror: Barbatos, unable to bring you back from the dead. Diavolo, shrugging over your broken corpse as he said,

**Bring over the next one.**

Diavolo knew your entire bloodline. If you had failed, who’d have he dragged over next? Your brother? Your cousin? Would he have abducted more of your family because of this cursed blood, Lilith’s blood, just for this?

“How many others?” You managed to ask, finally looking at him in the eye.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You kept tabs on my family for generations. How many from my family were in those ‘applications’?”

If you saw your reflection in his eyes, you might’ve flinched. For you were pale—quite pale—and your eyes had a wild, almost faded light.

“Ah, I see. From your immediate family, only you. Lilith’s descendants had branched out as most human genealogical records go.”

You were a lifetime past believing that. “Out of everyone in my family, out of all the relatives I have, you picked me.” You had first and second cousins who would’ve **adored** this, who would’ve handled this a lot better than you. “Who forwarded my name? Who did this to me? _Tell me!”_

“Watch your voice, please.” Barbatos took a step forward.

You tilted your head to look at the smaller demon. “Or what?” Your voice cracked. “You’ll kill me?”

How would you die this time? You had imagined all sorts of ways, though surely it was nothing compared to what demons did. You imagined drowning in your own blood, flooding your mouth and nostrils. Or disembowelment, having your insides slowly ripped from your belly and burned until you couldn’t bear the agony. The demons would be laughing and saying _I_ **_hate_ **_humans._

“This won’t do.” A goblet was forced into your hands. The pungent smell of alcohol hit your nose. “Drink.”

You drank, choked, drank again. It felt like an eternity before the images stopped flashing through your mind. When you willed yourself to face them again, you were once more in control, but you couldn’t keep embarrassment from darkening your cheeks as your thoughts began to slow.

“Why did you call me here?”

“Lucifer and I had a chat yesterday. He was concerned for your wellbeing, as were the rest of his brothers. I can’t say I’m not worried, either.”

“Don’t bother. I did what you wanted—I brought them back together. You have them eating out of your hand. Now, let me go home.”

He had the audacity to look disappointed. “I admit my knowledge of the human mind is limited and that I may have unintentionally offended you. I was hoping that you would be amenable to reconciliation. We haven’t had the proper chance to show you our gratitude.”

“Then go to the coffin downstairs and thank it.” You poured yourself another helping of whatever drink it was, downing it before Barbatos could snatch it back. “It’ll do as much good.”

Your parents gave you your name. Not Lilith. These demons didn’t deserve to call you by your name. They ought to keep calling you ‘human’. They weren’t going to let you go home _ever_ , would they? You were a useful keystone, and even humans didn’t throw away a tool as long as it remained useful.

“Demons don’t die, do they?” your words came with an effort, were unevenly spaced.

“Not like humans, no, but they still—”

“‘Zackly,” you nodded. “You lot don’t die. You can get cut up and you’ll be fine. Maybe you forgot how frail and _weak_ humans are. That crazy demon killed me. Now, now, I know, I came back because **POOF!** ” You shook your hands in front of their faces for emphasis. “Magic! But that doesn’t erase that. I can’t forget that. Even if I could, I won’t. Because I died. I died just to keep a family together. I already have one and they’re not in this shithole. You took that from me, too.”

You were talking too much. You rose to go.

“Well, consider yourselves lucky for not knowing what trauma is. I’m gonna go skip the rest of my classes and relive that mess of a tea party before another demon puts me out of my misery.” You gave ‘em the classic finger guns. “See ya never. I’m done here.”

Dropping your hands as soon as you stepped outside, you brushed off Lucifer’s questions with a sombre face. Evidently he found nothing overtly concerning; he swiftly entered Diavolo’s office after giving you a mixed look. As soon he did, however, you bolted. Your legs pounded against the floor, your eardrums, the familiar jolt grounding you like nothing else could.

Nothing here made sense so you might as well give up trying to find an answer. Magic, Lilith, timey-wimey dimension-hopping; running was something you knew how to do.

You were a person of your word. You brought the brothers back together. You skipped the rest of your classes, making a beeline to the academy’s library instead. All libraries, regardless of location, had sections reserved for studying, fornication, and dust-collecting.

You had staked out several spots for future use. Students here regarded Human Creative Literature as… the same way students in the human world regarded Creative Literature. It wasn’t a section that was swarming with students, but not isolated from the study area for anyone to attempt trysts. And with piles of books that stretched from the corner to the next two aisles, it was perfect.

You crawled into a small hollow between the stacks of dust-ridden books, using your jacket to cushion your body against the pointy corners. For a few minutes, you were nervous about missing classes; years of institutionalized education left in you the crippling fear of failing your grades. But then you laughed; this was a demon school. How would getting good grades here help you in the human world? How would getting bad grades hinder anything back home?

Whatever you had drunk, it was strong. It’d be better if you slept it off, you decided. Using your bag as a pillow, you curled sideways into a ball and let your mind wander the mellow haze of mild inebriation.

The injustice of it all still rankled. Why did Diavolo even bother to make you a student? Why not just come right out and say that you were to be the new lynchpin? That would’ve made things a lot easier than making you believe that you were a _student_ , someone who could _befriend_ them like an _equal_ …

A book poked against your leg, igniting your bruise. Ow.

It was hard to look at this mess objectively. You had every right to be angry, even if Diavolo had wanted to help Lucifer. Even when he did his best to keep you safe. But, somehow, being right didn’t make you less miserable.

_What did you want?_

You had wanted to go home. You wanted to keep your family safe. But two days of fresh trauma made you think a lot of things—and very few thoughts took the pleasant road. Next time the brothers had a spat, would they kidnap you again? Worse, would they take someone else from your family? You knew your sister wouldn’t stand a chance.

This was consuming you. You were well aware of it; you _chose_ to grasp it. Here, where you had nothing to lose, you embraced it. Could you let go of it when you went back?

Forgiveness is divine, they said. But you weren’t divine, angel blood or no. How do you ‘forgive’ your murderer? Would it get rid of your memories of seeing your brain spill out? Would you then accept Belphegor like the rest? Fuck all.

Your eyelids grew heavy. You hoped there would be no nightmares this time as you wrapped the jacket around you.

You were not refreshed at all when you woke up. You were out for, what, a couple of hours? You checked your D.D.D., ignoring the messages. Yup, not enough. Your back was sore and when you rolled up your sleeve, the bruise had darkened to purple. Great. Now your skin matched this place. Dust fluttered as you emerged from the corner.

“Sleep well?” Satan leaned against an adjacent bookcase, arms folded.

“Not really. I gotta piss.”

“Washroom’s across the hall.”

“Thanks.”

Ahh, that felt better.

“I’m not going to class.”

“Is that really wise?”

“I wasn’t chosen to come here for my wisdom. Do I look like Solomon to you?”

“Not at all. You’re… a particular individual.”

“Anyways, you can’t make me.”

“That is true. I can’t. However, Beel is waiting outside the library for you.”

“Why him?”

A raised eyebrow. “He’s the only one who’s done for the day. I thought you’d be okay with him?”

“…I’ll just go to my room.”

“Hey. Come here.” A hand dusted off your shoulders, the side of your head. “Did he do something to you, too?”

“No,” you admitted. “But that other demon might show up around him.”

He shook his head. “Belphie’s in class. And… er… we read your text messages. He won’t disturb you when you’re with Beel, that I can guarantee.”

“You guys share text messages? Wow. You guys must absolutely adore each other.”

“You’re a special case. And Beel wants to talk to you. Whatever he’s done, is it so bad you can’t hear him out?”

“Again, no,” you conceded with growing irritation. “But why does he want to talk to me? He has his twin brother now, why don’t they go and jerk off together?”

He turned to the side to cough, forcefully. “I believe it’s because you’re important to him, too.”

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “Really. And if that damned demon decides to kill me again, who will he choose to defend?”

Satan didn’t answer that. Then again, you were asking the wrong person.

“I convinced Lucifer that you needed… space. But you have to help me out here, too.”

“Help,” you repeated, sullen. “That’s all I’m here for, isn’t it? And I don’t even get paid for it. Fine.”

Try as you might, your exasperation mingled with old, torn affection as you faced the brother who, a long time ago, you had considered one of your favourites. He had no agenda. You almost wished he did, so your spite could be unmuddled.

“Hey.”

“There you are.” He nodded, bit his lip, glanced away, to the bag of chips in his hands, and looked at you again. For a demon who could match Lucifer in brute strength, he looked curiously subdued.

Normal was a subjective concept but the students of RAD probably saw this as a rare sighting: the sixth member of the student council with what appeared to be a life-sized dust bunny. Your hair was still damp, you managed to make the uniform on you look like they came from a donation bucket, the jacket was a rumpled knot around your waist—

You felt an incoming sneeze. Must’ve been the dust. You _could_ cover your mouth, give a very proper little sneeze. You could salvage what dignity you had left; too bad you didn’t have any. You gasped, paused to channel your father’s sneeze energy, then… **“bBvvVrRAIOUSZTHCHhhshHH!!”**

Okay, it was pretty funny when he jumped.

“You wanted to talk to me, Beelzebub?”

“I… yeah.”

The other students stared at you until they were dumb enough to make eye contact. They quickly cleared a path for Beelzebub, though. You had no trouble following him.

You were rolling your sleeves up for the seventh time (darn things wouldn't stay) when he finally stopped, scrunching the empty bag and tossing it into the nearest trash can.

You stifled your impatience; almost snapping the words. “What is it that you have to say to me?”

“I…” He was struggling, maybe from his break from perpetually snacking. But as you looked into the boy's stricken dark eyes, you relented.

“Where did you want to go?”

The commons were empty. You gritted your teeth as you stared into the fireplace, viciously stabbing the kindling with the poker. You already fell prey to your memories in sleep; you weren’t going to let it invade your wakefulness. Flames flared, provoking you to stab harder.

“Argh, fuck!”

“Watch out!” He sprang from his seat. The spark that had landed on your skin was too small to leave a mark yet the panic elicited in him would make you think your entire body was set on fire.

“I’ll get some ice.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, reaching for the poker you had dropped.

He came back with the ice—and a bunch of stuff from the fridge. Of course.

“Are you okay?”

You shrugged. That word didn’t mean much to you these days. Look at that, your D.D.D. had another shitload of messages. Good; you could troll them later after your next night terrors.

“You brought my family back together.”

It was here. This was the place where the family came back together. This was the place where your life became a hell of Liliths and deaths, your death. Lilith took your death and made it hers. You should’ve just stayed dead. How many times did ‘you’ die before Barbatos got the ‘you’ that survived?

“You look pale. Are you okay?”

He had warm hands and strong arms that made you feel weightless. He only hugged you when you had freed his brother—when he called you Lilith—

_You’re amazing, come here and give me a hug!_

_“Don’t!”_ You scrambled from the couch, tripping over the hem of your pants and tumbling over. Gasping as the cold tiles received your body, you struggled into a standing position, acutely feeling the air go in and out of your lungs. He had barely touched you, his face twisted in pain that shouldn’t have affected you through your fear and grief.

“I’m sorry,” he hung his head. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to, I just—I wanted to help.”

Your hand moved to your unblemished throat, pressed against the beating hollow. Beelzebub wouldn’t. You shouldn’t have imagined his hands around you with the sadistic intent to kill. “How can you possibly _help_ me?”

“I don’t know.” He wrung his hands. “I didn’t even know how to help Belphie. You did everything, and more. Can you tell me how, how can I make up for all this?”

It occurred to you that you still held the poker. The end held bits of ash that fell apart in brittle flakes. Your eyes traced one that spiralled to the floor, sputtering a tiny light before disintegrating into nothing.

“Why are you saying this?” Your head drooped. “You saw what happened to me. You were there.”

“I wish I wasn’t. I wish I never saw you like—” Yeah, you too. “—that. When I thought I had lost you, I couldn’t… even if it was Belphie who…”

The poker laid heavy in your hand. “You have him, Beel. You have… your family back. Why can’t you just be happy with that?”

“Because you’re part of the family, too.”

You shook your head so hard it hurt. “No, I’m not. I’ll never be. Don’t force me into it.”

“Not as Lilith!” he blurted out. “It’s not because of Lilith, I swear! Lucifer and… and Satan explained it to me. I was confused, and I was so happy to have Belphie back with us, and I didn’t see… how much it hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Disbelief gripped you like a fist.

“I _died!_ Maybe it’s not a huge deal to demons, but it is to me! Why doesn’t anyone here get this? Tell me, then, if it was your brother who you saw die and come back! Go on, tell me how you wouldn’t remember his dying face!” you jeered.

And just like that, your anger was gone, lain sodden and heavy within you at the sight of his devastated face. You looked away, struggling with an unwelcome sense of shame. There was no sport in hurting Beelzebub; it was too easy.

You heard your name on his lips. Sweat trickled down your face as the hearth roared.

Slowly, you moved back to the couch, resuming your position across the forlorn, childlike demon.

“I thought… if we only thought about how you’re still with us, and what you did for us… then you wouldn’t have to think about the rest.”

You raised your hands to your aching temples, the firelight blurring and dancing before you. You wished you didn’t have to feel this. You wished he’d stop talking and punch you in the face so you wouldn’t have to keep hurting.

“I’m sorry. I know I keep saying it, but I really am. I—we owe you for—everything. I wish…”

From the mountain of food he brought from the fridge, a stray can of foxglove preserves rolled out. Grabbing it before it could topple onto the floor, you nudged it towards him.

“Eat,” you took his hand, wrapping his fingers around it. “Eat this, just—just forget everything else and go back.”

He held onto your hand. That was the most he had asked for, back when you guys shared a room. You still had a heart; you felt it swell in the memory, forcing you to swallow it back. His hands hovered over the bruise, handling it with terrified tenderness. As if he did that to you.

“What can I do?” He pleaded. “What can I do to make you happy again and come back to us?”

This hopeless fool. You set the poker down.

“C’mere.” You gruffed, putting your other hand on his shoulder and wrenching him closer; or tried to. He was too huge for you to drag him around like your brother. But he came to you, nonetheless. “You foolish…”

Your feelings weren’t ‘complicated’. You just liked feeling one emotion at a time because any more than that clouded what action to take, what resolve to form. But as much as your bitterness cried for justice, you stayed, ignoring the growing stiffness and the sweat gathering in your palm.

“Man, classes were boring—oh.”

Your shoulders were heavy even after you slipped from Beelzebub’s grasp. Without thinking, you patted his head a couple of times as you said to Mammon,

“Look after him.”

“Where were you?”

Right, you still looked like you’ve been pulled out from under a couch. “In the library.”

“Look, I just… you’ll talk to him but not to me?”

You were too exhausted to snap back with your usual vigour. “Meh.”

“You’re really outta sorts these days.”

“Yes, well, I died.” That was going to be your go-to for every argument now.

“But you’re right here! You’re not dead—you’re not!”

Did he always have to shout? It was doing your headache no favours; you headed to the hallway. “Can you pipe down?”

“I didn’t fail! You were right there, dying in _my_ arms, but it wasn’t too late! Yer alive now!” He was getting riled up, talking to himself now. “Belphie did—I said I’d save—me or no one—and now you’re saved! No one’s ever going to hurt you again while I live! But—but—”

“I said be quiet!” You turned to face him. “Why is everyone blaming themselves instead of the actual demon who killed me?”

That finally shut him up. His shrinking demeanour and downcast eyes reminded you of a kicked dog. “You have really gotta stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“All… that,” you waved a hand that gestured to his… everything. “You have _got_ to _chill!_ ”

Kinda rich, coming from you.

“Chill? I’m tryin’ to say I’m sorry! I tried my damndest hard to reach ya and I couldn’t! I’m sorry that ya had to die in my arms before Barbatos pulled some magic shit outta his asshole!”

“Christ on a bike, none of you gave a shit about the whole magic crap until I decided it mattered!”

“Can’t you see we’re bloody tryin’?!”

You crossed your arms. “How?”

“Just because you’re not there doesn’t mean stuff hasn’t been happening! What with Lucifer ridin’ on us making sure we don’t confuse you with Lilith; hell, he even went to yell at Diavolo to try to straighten this out!”

Mammon was going off; his tendency to repeat the same shit had granted you the ability to filter out the rest. So these idiots were capable of interacting with each other without you having to act as the middleman. Would’ve been nice to know before all this started.

“Look, you’re my— _the_ human who managed to fix all our shit up, okay? And despite Levi goin’ off about his otaku shit, none of us knows a rat’s ass about how you humans (and by that, the non-magical folk who’s _not_ tryna get all up in here) and that’s why we’re hella tryna understand! We can’t lose you again!” He gripped your shoulders. “I can’t!”

Oh. Well, that changed… absolutely nothing! you wanted to scream. But shock smacked you upside the head, jolting you into something akin to understanding. The quiver in his fingers, the grief that outlined his anger mirrored a fraction of your own.

“So you’re telling me that the fact I died doesn’t matter for shit as long as I’m alive?” You glowered.

“Well, uh… the important bit’s that you came back,” he mumbled, unsure of your reaction. “Demons pop in and out all the time, y’know? One time Satan and Lucifer pulled the 666 methods of torture on me (I did NOT go to their rooms, I swear) and I was out for like, a month? Humans are more delicate, I know that.”

“Yes,” you narrowed your eyes, “us _humans_ are supposed to die once. And if we somehow manage to come back, we get pretty mad about it.”

“But you’re back,” he hastily wrapped his arms around you, as if still marvelling at a fresh wonder. “You’re here, with me. And you won’t leave because this time I’ll protect ya, for real. Cuz I’m the first, _your_ first.”

You let out a sound of muted impatience but made no move to disengage yourself. This idiot demon was, in his idiot way, showing he cared, however idiotic. Their flippant view of death, the utter disregard of your trauma—these were gaps that a thousand exchange programs couldn’t bridge. You were, after all, alive to them; why dwell on the unpleasant past? Yet here was this demon, your first demon, admitting in his roundabout way that your death had meant more than a temporary complication best swept under the rug.

Might as well let him have this one. You hugged him back.

“You’re the best, Mammon.”

“Really?”

“I'm not going to say it again.” Twice was enough even if he heard it once.

“Ahahahaha! I knew it! The Great Mammon, the second-born Avatar of Greed, the—”

You rolled your eyes; too bad he couldn’t see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing everything on this website is done behind the privacy of computers because otherwise, you guys would see me flopping about and screaming in confused delight that people like this story. I hope I never lose that feeling; the rush of serotonin working on this is like drugs.
> 
> (Disclaimer: I have never taken drugs.)


	5. Robust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He who angers you conquers you. ―Elizabeth Kenny_  
>  _Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath. ―Eckhart Tolle_  
>  “No, really?!”
> 
>  _A grudge is like being stung to death by one bee. ―William Walton_  
>  _“Angry people are not always wise.” ―Jane Austen_  
>  _Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about change. ―Malcolm X_  
>  _Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight. ―Phyllis Diller_  
>  “Finally, some good fucking advice.”

I’m sorry. I have a blocker that prevents me from processing your request.

“Are you kidding me.”

To block all incoming calls and messages from a member of the student council, exceptions must be obtained from the president and vice-president.

“You’re as useless as a chocolate teapot, you know that?”

I do my best.

To think you pulled out the D.D.D. manual for this. You crammed it back, cursing the inept Karasu. Your D.D.D., you religiously ignored the endless notifications as you headed off to the bathroom. At least you could put it on silent.

Lord, the _dust_. You weren’t going back to that section of the library again unless you needed a hobo disguise. 

You didn’t expect Mammon to understand everything; none of them truly would, or could. Frustration bubbled, blending with rending memories that made you scrub your hair until your scalp felt raw. That didn’t stop you from ferociously towel-drying it until your head was whirling from the fury of the motions.

You had to stop showering so much. But it was one of the few things you could do without losing your mind.

_Knock knock_

“Leave it outside.” You stretched on your bed, cuddling a cushion and staring at the candles on the tree decoration. The tree, the hanging vines, the ivy on the walls, they were all meant to make you feel ‘at home’. How stupid. Like you needed plants to remember where you belonged.

It was easier to move now that you were wearing shorts. The bruises on your shins had spread a rich violet, interwoven with patches of yellow. The cricks in your back wouldn’t settle down no matter how many times you cracked them. You sighed; might as well eat. Throwing on last night’s sweater, you went to the door.

“Ahhhh fuck, you again.”

“Good evening to you, too.”

In fairness, you didn’t specifically tell him to piss off. “What do you want?”

“First, may I come in?”

“No.”

He grimaced. “I wish to speak with you before you eat.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean speaking _at_ me?”

As much as you enjoyed mouthing off at Lucifer, remembering his lethal hissy fits made you yield, allowing him to step in. Keeping the door open since you no longer trusted yourself to say the right words that wouldn’t set him off, you sat at the table and sulked.

“What now?”

What was he going to yell at you for this time? For not kissing Diavolo’s feet? Skipping classes that counted for absolutely nothing? Bonus points if it was about the sneeze.

“I heard from Diavolo that you have a complaint against him.”

You reached for your D.D.D., fiddling with the lizard tail before placing it in front of you. “And?”

“I’d like to know what it is that has you so upset. I had thought our conversation yesterday was enough to… put things behind.”

“Why bother asking me?” You quipped. “Diavolo told you everything, didn’t he?”

“Because I would like to hear your side of the story as well.” He straightened his collar, never taking his eyes off you all the while. “You should know, I don’t tolerate disrespect against Diavolo of any kind. But at his behest, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt that there are extenuating circumstances.”

Resentment stirred, but here was a lifeline, however frayed; he was listening. Here was a demon that, however much you held against him, was intelligent enough to be reasoned with, sort of. Quelling the impulse to lash out at him (for now), you inhaled, heaving out a deep breath as you tried to piece everything together.

“Shall I close the door?”

“No. I need witnesses in case you decide to kill me.”

His mouth thinned. “Do you have so little faith in my self-control?”

You propped an elbow on the table. “Asmo and Mammon are the only demons who haven’t outright tried to kill me the whole time I was here.” You shifted, resting your chin on your hand. “But I suppose I shouldn’t be so harsh. Your youngest brother, after all, is the only one who succeeded.”

Point to you. Anger had congealed into ice but sweet, sweet contempt invoked a ghost of a smile to your lips.

“I see. Is that what has been on your mind?”

“There’s more. If you’d rather I shut up and stick it out, then we’re done here.”

“That has never been your approach ever since you came here.”

You shrugged. “Fair enough.” You reached for a roll. “Hey, even a condemned prisoner back home gets one last meal.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not a prisoner. Has your time in Devildom been so consistently dire for you to say that?”

If things had been one continuous shitshow, you might’ve said yes. But you were human, right? Humans were full of second thoughts. Your asshat of a brain chose this moment to conjure the parts of your stay that weren’t so terrible: the eager smile when Levi introduced you to Henry (the goldfish), the shitty bandages Mammon used to wrap your wrist.

“No,” you said shortly, unwillingly.

“Then, at the very least, can you explain what is troubling you?”

The very fact that you had to explain at all was insulting. You bit back an oath, reminding yourself that he was giving you the chance to speak. How discomfited must he be, the Avatar of _Pride_ , to have to ask you for the answers?

“I have spoken to my brothers concerning their confusion between you and Lilith. It seems you have already talked to some of them, however.”

“Yeah.” They came to mind, those brothers. With them, at least, there was the hope of restoring trust. A modicum of ease lifted your spirits. “Some have more sense than others.”

“Would you like to speak to all of them in the same room?”

“What? No!” You snapped your head up, the _crack_ in your neck echoing throughout the room. “I don’t want an intervention.”

“Then what is it you want?” He leaned forward.

Wasn’t that the question of the hour. If only you were certain of the answer you’d give. Home. To forget. But if you forgot, this could happen again. Your family. Who could stand up against Diavolo?

“I wish I never went up to that stupid attic.”

Amusement crinkled his features as he belatedly raised his hand to hide it. “It’s a bit late for that particular regret, isn’t it?”

You gave a one-shoulder shrug, biting into the hunk of bread in your hands.

“Forgive me. I didn’t realize—that the death of your other self would linger so.”

You set the bread down, forcing down the one mouthful you took. He handed you a glass; you inhaled the contents, hoping that the tang was orange juice and not some weird horned beetle extract shit.

Your head was racing ahead by the time your airway was clear.

“My other self,” you began, “was me. Don’t try to separate the two.”

“I should’ve worded that better,” he confessed, maddeningly calm. “Yes, both versions of you were ultimately one and the same. Back then, everything was rather hectic and Diavolo was eager to resolve the immediate problem.”

“You mean me getting killed again.”

His face contorted. “Yes. Barbatos’ powers notwithstanding, he had wanted to keep you safe. All of us,” Here he inclined his head a little, hair flopping to shadow his face, “had.”

He was leaving the next words to you, waiting with raking patience. Did you believe him? He embodied pride, not lies. But he had lied, too. To protect his family, you recalled. To take everything upon himself, just like any head of the family would.

“Did that ever bother any of you?” You exhaled, trying to sound less… confrontational. If you were a decade or two older you were pretty sure you’d have gotten at least one kind of disease from hypertension. “Or is it all on me?”

“I assure you, all of us were distraught at that time.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I see. You have equated our mentalities,” he laughed; a hollowed sound without mirth. “With all that’s happened, I forget that you are, in the end, not truly one of us—however much…”

You didn’t hear the rest of that sentence, allowed him to trail off, smothered by your own sentiments. In less than a hundred years, you’d be dead. These demons would continue to indulge in the present, laughing as they looked to their illimitable future without a care in their world while you were left behind, wallowing in the obsolete past and its relics.

Like animals, you thought.

Jesus God. What could you possibly say to that? How could they understand you as a human, let alone yourself, if the past meant nothing as long as the end result was to their expectations? Even the most unflinching soldier had at least one memory that haunted them—or broke them. That’s what made them _human._

“When I saw your body,” Lucifer seized a brittle composure, “it was… not a sight I wished to keep in my memory.”

“So you chose to forget,” you croaked. Clearing your throat, you fought to remain steady. “Just like that.” You tried to snap your fingers despite their shaking. “I don’t…”

Taking advantage of your hesitancy, he closed the space between you, putting a gentle but firm hand on your arm.

“It is not something we can forget, nor is it something we wished to dwell on. If you must know, we cared… very much.”

Demonology 101: demons couldn’t resist direct, deliberate temptation. Demons lived thousands upon thousands of years, chased after human souls like they were going out of style, and the majority of them had shitty impulse control if any. They lived in the moment. Unlike you.

“And it is because we care that we choose to focus on the present where you survived. We do not dwell on past tragedies when it takes away from the current truth, where you are alive, whole, and have helped my family in more ways than one. It would only tear us further.”

He had shifted his hand to your wrist. Did he expect you to fling your glass at him? You searched his face.

“I believe you.” You said simply, thinking of Mammon, of Beelzebub, and of the greatest fool that was yourself.

The silent struggle to swallow the lump of misery was a battle you won, would have to win continuously for the rest of your time here. What anguished you most? The bloodline that made you eligible for this fuckery, that everything was masterminded, or that, despite Lucifer’s admission that your transient fatality had mattered, just not the _human way_ , the one who laughed as you died walked free and ignorant to the gravity of his actions?

What to fix first: a broken heart or a shattered identity?

“Is that why you grieve? Because you think we didn’t care that you died?”

Now it was your turn to laugh. “Where I come from, we die once. If we come back at all, I guarantee the last thing we’d want to do is to have a fucking _tea party_ with the one who killed us.”

“If Belphegor had harmful intent, Diavolo would not have let him near you.”

“You don’t know that.” Leave it to Lucifer to kindle your rage by naming the two demons you loathed. In a way, you were glad he did; it was better than fighting the urge to break down.

“But I do.” His eyes held no trace of warmth. “Do you presume to doubt him?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Your veins rippled in your wrists. “Isn’t he the one who planned this from the very beginning?”

“He planned for your arrival, nothing more. And before you start snapping again, let me say this: Diavolo did **not** create this exchange program between all three worlds just for you.”

Way to shoot you down. As if you thought everything revolved around you.

You tried again. Lucifer was fair more often than not, in all matters not concerning his besotted loyalty to Diavolo. Perhaps if you tried to take the princeling out of it, he could be made to see the unfairness of it.

“Your relationships between your brothers—are they fixed?”

“Slowly,” if he was surprised at the sudden change of topic, it didn’t show. “It is a steady effort, but the rift is healing. We are, after all,” a faint smile grazed his lips, “a family.”

“Super. So, can I go home now?”

The crease between his eyebrows returned. “Why—”

“I did my job. What, you think I don’t have my family to look after, either?”

Every fight you picked here was never a fight you could win, whether it was a ‘friendly’ TSL contest or three demons versus you and a tinyass blade. In a way, that made every fight liberating: you knew you would lose, every time. Knowing this meant you decided _how_ you lost. Even back home, you weren’t a graceful loser; especially to scumbags who didn’t merit grace.

“When Diavolo decides he wants to start another pet project with Lilith’s blood, who will he go for next?” Protectiveness surged with malice. “You think I’ll just sit back and let you demons stalk my family? Or keep them in the dark, lie and pretend everything’s fine?”

“I suggest you stop while you’re ahead,” Lucifer said, low-voiced.

“Don’t worry,” you answered, just as softly. “I know your limits.”

Later, you would clutch your head and wish you had said something else. Was that really the best comeback you had? Ugh! Embarrassing. Also, weirdly sexual.

“I hardly think you do, human.”

Ah, splendid; you had almost forgotten what species you were. “Probably not.”

His grip tightened. “Must you cause such unnecessary trouble?”

That’s what you were here for. You forced a challenging smile, but he refused to take the bait.

“Very well. If you must take it upon yourself to remain difficult, you leave me with no choice.”

The attic flashed through your mind; your bravado wilted to show the beginnings of panic. “What?”

“Your attitude shows that you’ve no interest in reconciling with **all** of my brothers. For your sake as well as theirs, I will have to take corrective measures.”

Home? No. You imagined being locked in the attic, sealed in the room until you ‘changed your mind’. No one would know, no matter how much you pounded and yelled and died. Who would free you? A sheen of sweat coated your face.

“No,” you choked out.

His next words couldn’t break through the roaring in your ears, the pulsing of your own blood. Mother of God, would your bloodstains still be there? 78% of people put in solitary confinement were likely to die by suicide, you had read once. How long had the demon been imprisoned? You were going to be there longer, in the room where you had died, because dying wasn’t enough.

“I’m not going,” you managed between clenched teeth.

He drew his hand back, knotted his fingers. “And why not?”

“I’m not going back to that attic! He _murdered me there!”_

You had whirled to your feet, panting. How arrogant to think you had any upper hand even in your defeats; the mere threat of the attic had already sent you into a spiralling mess.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to talk this out with Belphegor?” He asked at last.

“No,” you replied, in a tight flat voice that rang in your ears; the voice of a stranger, not your voice at all. “No, I don’t have anything to say to him.”

“He may have something to say to you.” Appealing to reason, “Would it not be better to reach an understanding, if not a compromise?”

A bitter smirk clawed its way to your face. “What sort of understanding could I possibly get?”

“I wasn’t going to send you to the attic. I meant to suggest that you have a full discussion with everyone involved to… help.” He folded his arms. “We’ve done you several grievous wrongs and while some are too late to reverse, others might still be amended. Without open and honest discussion, we will never know. Now if that makes me a hypocrite—” he shrugged. “So be it.”

His wry candour was disarming, struck echoes in you. It was, you knew, the same sort of calculating common sense you’d have gotten from some of your more pragmatic friends, and some of your resentment ebbed. After all, you couldn’t blame Lucifer for wanting to fix everything. That was kind of his thing.

“At least you admitted it.”

“Yes, it seems I can still be influenced, from even the most unlikely of sources.”

Ha-ha. You paced in a circle before sitting back in your chair. The idea wasn’t new but intriguing, nonetheless. You tossed it in your mind, contending the possible conclusions, persuaded despite the turmoil. So this was how the devil tempted.

But there remained one thing you would refuse to budge on, as much as you detested the idea of facing him again. “I’m going to talk to Diavolo.”

He clenched his lips a minute; then, with hard eyes, struck back. “I cannot have you lashing out at him again.”

You stiffened as if you meant to snap at him. But you didn’t, and after the space of several shallow breaths, your shoulders slackened.

“I—” You rubbed the knuckles of your hand. “I want to keep my family safe, too.”

There was a silence now—a deep vastness of it where time stuttered to a halt. Then you raised your head, listless. “Do you get what I’m saying? I need to know that this demon stuff ends with me. I can’t have anyone else in my family involved.” You forced yourself to add a begrudging, “Please.”

You didn’t know what went on in his head. You only hoped your spent silence worked better than your anger, reproaching him against his pride, demanding that he see and understand.

“I will ask him,” he acquiesced. “But you must promise that you will behave yourself.”

“…Fine.”

“And the intervention with my brothers?”

Well, now you owed him, so… “I need time,” you said at last.

“How much?”

How would you know? “Uh… I don’t know, a week?”

“Is a week enough to collect your thoughts and process your emotions?”

Did he have to sound so clinical? “I’ll try not to get myself killed.”

“Mm. Good.” He rose to go. “I apologize for keeping you from dinner.”

“Thanks,” you stood up to stretch.

“I’m glad that you’re on good terms with some of my brothers, at least. They adore you.”

“Some of them aren’t bad,” you acknowledged.

“Do you consider yourself particularly close to be wearing their clothes?”

“What?” Where did that come from? He was looking at you, or more specifically, your… oh shit, right, this wasn’t your sweater. Oops. “Yeah, he’s good. I should probably give this back to him.”

He closed the door behind you. You waited for his footsteps to fade away, which it did eventually. You sniffed your sleeve. Smelled like manuscripts and dried cat food; you took it off, reaching for another shirt. Dinner was bread and… soup? What kind of soup was purple? At least it tasted better than it looked. You downed it without a second thought.

Homework was an essay on Devildom flora, several worksheets that you had left half-done, and wow why did you even bother. Screw it! You didn’t care anymore! you told yourself as you tossed everything into the bin.

…and then you picked up the papers and began to write, digging into the paper so hard that the ink bled everywhere.

By the time you scrawled enough garbage that the professor may or may not take, your hands were dyed. Reaching for the nearest book, you flipped through the pages: Lord of this—Lord of that—

_Knock knock_

“What!”

“Dar~ling, time for round two of your new skincare routine!”

“Asmo, I think I can do it myself now—oh what the _fuck_ why are there so many people?”

“Do you really, I mean REALLY trust Asmo? Surprised he didn’t jump you the last time.”

“Hey! I’d never do something like that to them!”

You skimmed their faces; Lucifer said a week. One week before you had to face all of them. But these three, you had enjoyed their company before this madness, missed it enough to reclaim a semblance of those days. Or maybe you needed the distraction, even if it was them, to strangle out the uneasy memories and bad places your mind was addicted to conjuring and re-conjuring.

You were a little apprehensive to see Leviathan, but apprehension wasn’t fear. You let him set his game up in your room.

“They insisted on visiting you.”

“You don’t have to whisper that,” you grumbled, resisting the urge to scratch the itch on your outstretched arm.

“But then I wouldn’t have a good excuse to have my lips in your ear.”

“Hey! Whaddaya think you’re doin’?! Don’t get so close to them!”

“Oh please, Mammon. Don’t be so territorial.”

“Bro, focus! Focus on the game before you—ohhhhh there goes your stocks!”

“D’aah! That’s the second time! Quit outsourcing your companies!”

If you were grouchier, you’d have used the pact to shut them up. As it was, you gave them an exasperated look but said nothing.

“Just so you know,” his breath tickled your ear, “I have a meeting with Solomon pretty soon and I must look my absolute best for him. You don’t mind being with the pair of idiots, right? I can’t believe they’re older than me, but there you go.” He stared at you, pleading.

“Oh, go on.” You waved him off without a second thought.

“I don’t get a kiss this time?” he huffed.

“Don’t be greedy. There’s the door.”

“Ugh, normie flirting.” He clamped a hand over his mouth as if that’d turn back time.

“Wanna play?”

“I’ll just watch.”

**Game Paused**

“Come on! You gotta play with us! Levi’s kicking my ass!”

What did he put on your legs? Felt like tiger balm mixed with hand gel. Oh, now you knew it was some magic shit because those bruises were yellowing out a lot faster than it should. Just like that sprain; what convenient magic they had around here.

“Is there an extra controller?”

“Right here.”

**Player 3 Added**

Wow. He actually gave you his lucky controller.

“Hey, you’re actually pretty good at this!”

You stifled a grin. You had played tycoon games back when it was all the rage and you were pretty decent at it—except the zoo simulation where you had inadvertently killed every animal except the llamas.

“Hey, Asmo didn’t do anything weird to you, did he?”

“He didn’t try to kill me if that’s what you meant.”

**Player 2 Has Filed For Bankruptcy**

“No-ooo! I can’t go down like this!”

“Lmaoooo GET REKT!”

These two brothers were the strongest after Lucifer. Outstanding.

“Hey, let me play as you for a bit!”

“No! Don’t let him, he’s going to make you penniless, too!”

You handed your controller to Mammon, thoroughly entertained. You weren’t so infallible to enjoy this whimsical present and see it for what it was: a moment you realized you would miss as you lived it. You could put down your grudge and misgivings for a second if only to recognize that.

“What’s with that dumb look?”

“You’d know all about dumb looks, Mammon.” You jabbed a finger to the screen. “If you stop getting distracted you might have an actual chance at winning.”

Even if it was just a lie that these demons were playing, pretending everything was fine.

“Hey! Don’t help him!”

Maybe you could sleep better tonight.

“Ha! I win! Looks like you can’t survive even without the hard carry! Now, what shall we play next?”

You were never good at shooter games; why did you reload in front of the enemy? But this was a friendly competition. Your life wasn’t at stake, you repeated internally as Levi and Mammon took turns beating your virtual ass again and again. They liked you and so far no one called you Lilith.

“That was fun!”

“Fun for _you_ ,” Mammon grumbled, nursing a bruised ego and stiffer fingers.

“It was fun,” you agreed, piling the games into a stack. “Thanks, Levi.”

“Oh!” His eyes sparkled. “I get to be called Levi again!”

So he did.

“Does that mean we’re true friends again? Not… _uncle_ and… you know?”

“Are we?” You mused aloud. “Did the Lord of Shadow accept Henry as his true friend because Henry proved his worth through his actions, or because that was his destiny no matter what he did?”

“…Yeah. When the Lord of Emptiness discovered that Henry held a piece of the First Queen’s spirit, he took the piece from his soul before the Lord of Corruption stopped him. Everyone thought Henry would die, but not only did he survive, but it turns out the piece was only setting Henry back! That’s why even when he despaired, he refused to give up and pulled through with help from his one true friend, the Lord of Shadow!”

As he threw his arms around you screaming more nonsense that was… queerly touching, withal, you caught Mammon’s wink and smiled back. History might not repeat itself but you’d make it rhyme if you had anything to say about it.

“Yup, those are the magic words, all right!” he chuckled, adjusting his sunglasses. “Now get off them, Levi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anger is only as good as its source!  
> I hope this chapter doesn't come off as MC "giving in" to the brothers. They're still very much angry and hoo boy working things out with Belphegor's gonna be a piece of work for everyone involved (myself included.) But they're processing feelings other than rage and are trying to be smart about it.  
> Or they're just sick of being angry and taking an emotional break because of human weakness, take your pick?  
> And thank you thank you for the comments! I read each of them and it gives me joy :D


	6. Radiant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purgatory was where the human souls went to repent of their sins before earning the right to bask in the glory of the Celestial Realm.  
> Purgatory Hall was where the human soul went to gain strength to face the lamenting devil.  
> You were good at procrastinating and evading your problems. Most humans had mastered it as an art at this point.

If a single game night could fix everything you wouldn’t be banging your head against the bathroom wall because _you were just so fucking exhausted_ and this time you didn’t even remember what you had dreamt. It must’ve been something bad, though. You envisioned impossible scenarios in your head, spewing improvised vitriol, drawing from invectives you had never realized you knew.

With people—demons, you could forget, you could pretend. But the bitter truth about pretending was that it was easy to lose yourself in the role you cast before an audience. When you were alone, you were only lying to yourself.

In a lucid moment, you understood how much Lucifer was doing for you.

You weren’t omnipresent; important conversations happened beyond your ears around here. You couldn’t know what Lucifer said to his brothers to make them stop mentioning Lilith entirely, what Lucifer would say to Diavolo to ensure not only your safety but that of your family’s, or even what the brothers were saying to the murderer to keep him from going after you again. You hoped all three involved a lot of yelling as you crawled back under the covers.

Drifting in and out of fitful, uneasy sleep, you waited for your mind to peter out.

_“You know you can’t stay mad at me forever.”_

_“Fuck off.”_

_“Do you really think everyone will choose you over me? Their own brother?”_

Just the dream you needed to wake up in a foul mood. Brooding as you zipped up the fly of your pants, you glanced at your D.D.D., bewildered. He wasn’t one for idle conversation.

**< Solomon**

_Would you like to walk to class together?_

_Why?_

_I’d like to review my notes with you for our classes today._

_No you don’t. What do you_ really _want?_

Oh, look, now you were getting a phone call; exactly the opposite of what you were hoping for. You stared at the Caller ID, watched as the light died down and the call went to voicemail: another feature you never checked.

“Good morning.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Nope.” You took the tray from his hands. “Goodbye.”

Without people to enjoy it with, meals were affairs that you wanted out of the way as quickly as possible. So by the time you were finished, you figured you had enough time to dump everything in the kitchen sink before heading to class. Shouldering your bag, you headed out.

_But what if you run into the crazy demon?_

“Well, then my funeral’s set.”

“Whose funeral?”

“Jesus!”

“Yeah, you won’t find him here.” Your caretaker for the day tapped his fingers. “Ready to go?”

Read as you’d ever be. You walked towards the kitchen, slowing your steps once you heard sounds on the other side.

“Yeah, Beel and Levi are arguing, same as usual. Don’t worry about it.”

“Levi should really watch over his food,” you set everything in the sink, rolling up your sleeves as you turned on the faucet. “How was breakfast?”

“As chaotic as you’d expect.” Satan shook his head. “Levi and Mammon overslept, and while I thoroughly enjoy Lucifer looking like his pants are smouldering…”

You grunted, rinsing the last of the plates. “All right, let’s go to class.”

“How was your talk with Beel?”

“Terrific! Couldn’t be better.”

What a withering look he gave you! He and Lucifer really did look alike. “I wish you wouldn’t be so flippant about it. Have you been spending too much time with Mammon?”

You shrugged, starting to reply before the next sounds replaced the contents of your veins with ice.

“They were gaming last night, Satan. What did you expect?”

“Ah…”

What the fuck was this dickshit doing here. They were supposed to be out _there._ Fear clamped your bones, made them rigid, suspending all sense of meaning and sensibility. As if he wouldn’t see you if you stood still.

“Belphie, what’re you doing here?”

“Wanted some apple pie. And hey, didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t like where he was staring at—the spots on your arm, your slacks that were loose enough to cloak the tremor in your knees, the wrinkle in your tie. Fear paralyzed your limbs, suffocated your voice, numbed you against Satan’s insistent tug and deafened you to the surrounding noise. Were they talking about you? Or at you? You had to get away, why weren’t your legs moving?

“Hey, you listening?”

“Belphie, I don’t think you should—”

You had practiced. You erupted, swung. “Get the _fuck_ away from me you _fucking bitch!”_

The sound of clashing metal jolted your brain, releasing whatever had kept the rest of your body frozen. Your legs were heavy, sluggish, but adrenaline pushed you to sprint to anywhere that wasn’t here. Fuck him. Fuck everyone. Fuck the intervention. Fuck Lilith.

You were horrendously out of breath by the time you reached the campus. Slamming a hand into the nearest wall, you began to dry-heave, making no effort to conceal your mouth. Let them watch. Who would want a human soul disgusting as yours?

You were away from them, that—that demon. Far away from them. The burnouts were seriously becoming a pain, to the point you were considering going to Hocus Pocus and buying the demon equivalent of stress meds.

“I see someone’s eager for class.”

Oh, go away.

“Here.”

Great, a handkerchief. Just the thing to fix everything. You slapped it aside.

“I get the feeling that you’d like to be alone, but several demons are currently staring at you.”

“Oh no,” you managed to say. “They’re _staring_ at me, oh no.”

When your lungs stopped burning, he was still there. Might as well.

“Alrighty then,” you gave a grandiose gesture. “Shall we?”

He caught your arm before you could stumble.

“Yes, let’s. We are, after all, the only two humans in Devildom. We’re bound to attract attention wherever we go.”

As if you didn’t already know that. Walking into the classroom, you plopped down on your seat; it was, you noted, too early for class. There were few students moving about outside and the room was almost deserted.

“So!” You threw your bag onto the desk. “What do you have to say to me this time, hm?”

“This time?” He said, with the quizzical uncertain smile of one missing a joke. “I believe it has been a while since we talked the last time.”

“No?” Not like you kept track. “Everyone’s telling me what to do, what to feel, and you guys all look the same.”

“I must disagree with you on the last bit.”

“Don’t even try. Slap on some face paint and horns and you’d give them a run for their money.”

He tittered, but you knew it wasn’t enough to distract him. “You don’t look well. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Unless you can obliterate everyone in this pit and burn this place to nothing, no, you can’t.”

“You say I’m the demon, but I think your current rage can rival Satan’s.”

“Don’t let him hear that.” A slight pause. “Hey, Solomon.”

“Yes?”

You sketched triangles on an empty page, in diminishing size. “Do you ever think about home?”

“Huh. Sometimes.” Twirling a pen between his fingers. “For me, I make my home where I go.”

You were already regretting that unexpected burst of honesty that probably compromised yourself. You attempted to amend, “Just the music. And movies. Man, I just want to know if there’ve been any good hits, lately.” You cracked open your textbook. “Don’t mind me.”

He leaned in, uncomfortably close, “I think I have something that can help. But it’s back in my dorm, so you’ll have to come with me after class.”

You gave him the look before pushing him back. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” he laughed easily, which didn’t make him less shady. “I’m curious, yes, but I also wish to maintain a good rapport with you. Is that wrong?”

“Just incredibly sketchy.”

“Would it put you at ease if Simeon and Luke were also there?”

“I’d rather not be interrogated.”

“No interrogation. Just a social gathering between the exchange students in RAD. What could go wrong?”

“A lot of things. But fine, I’ll go.” You needed more distraction, after all, and at least this guy wouldn’t snap your neck and laugh in your face for it. If you moved residence to Purgatory Hall, would it be better? Angels weren’t known to have sadistic streaks.

“Very good,” he smiled. “You finish class an hour after me, don’t you? I’ll wait for you outside your classroom.”

Right, because that wasn’t creepy at all. He was lucky you were used to it. “Did you actually want to see my notes?”

You avoided Satan’s eye when he entered the schoolroom. To his credit, he sat an ample distance away from you and kept Asmo from getting too near you. Safe to suppose Solomon was just as capable of keeping you from getting eaten.

Human History: not nearly as interesting as its Celestial counterpart. You were thankful Solomon also took this class to answer all the questions the professor dished out.

“I think you should check your D.D.D.” he whispered to you. “He’s been typing and staring at you for the past half hour.”

“…Eh.” Then you _had_ to lock eyes with Satan. “I see yours is buzzing as well.”

“It’s Asmo,” he looked at his screen with a wry grin. Did this kid ever not smile? “You can probably guess as to what about.”

**< Satan**

_I apologize for this morning._

_We told him numerous times to keep his distance from you, but it’s inevitable when all of us are living in close proximity. We’ll try to be more careful._

_I don’t know how Lucifer talked you into an intervention but for your sake, I hope it gives you the guidance you gave me._

_I’ve never seen you rage like that. I didn’t know how deep it went, though I’m hardly one to talk, seeing how much hatred I held and still hold._

_At least you didn’t die._

_No. But I know a thing or two when it comes to wrath._

_If it’s any consolation, no one will ever mistake you for Lilith now._

_What makes you say that?_

_Putting aside Lucifer’s needlessly convoluted lecture he tailored to each and every one of us, it was pretty obvious._

_If you had a more solid connection to Lilith we wouldn’t have needed Diavolo’s confirmation._

_Also, I’ve never seen Lucifer so flustered. Even Diavolo seems at a loss of what to do._

_Wish I could’ve seen that._

_And Beel?_

_I’m not going to face his evil twin even for him._

_What about the intervention?_

_I’ll figure it out when I get there, uncle._

You submitted your ink-stained assignments and strutted off to your next class without a backwards look.

Students whispered as you traipsed through the hallways but they didn’t obstruct your path. Good, you thought with fierce glee; let them. You weren’t just a pariah now, you were the _crazy_ pariah and all sentient beings avoided crazy.

“Levi? I thought you were taking the online equivalent for this class.”

“Ugh—I _am_ —but I’m here so Belphie doesn’t—” A look from Satan sputtered off the rest of that complaint.

You opened your book to the most comfortable-looking page, burying your face in it. Since you were the only human in this particular class, you couldn’t say much when the two brothers seated themselves beside you.

“What’re you doing?”

“Learning through osmosis.”

“You know that doesn’t actually work.”

Of course you knew. “I can still try.”

“Lolol the human wants to be a plant.”

Groaning, you stuffed your face further into the text.

“Asmo said Solomon’s taking you to Purgatory Hall after classes are over?”

“Yes, uncle,” came the stifled reply. Leviathan coughed to cover the startled laugh.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Be careful around him.” Ooh, someone was crabby.

What time didn’t heal, it numbed. The stairway to the attic, the stone walls that had shattered your head, the fugly orange drapery, the birdcage—sometimes what triggered those images weren’t even remotely related. You always drew a sharp breath, mentally screamed it out, or waited till it passed.

Like thought arrows, your sister had suggested. Just keep thinking of something else until you pull yourself together. Something good, like genitals or machine guns.

It hadn’t been long, but you were already forgetting bits, the tiny insignificant flecks. You couldn’t remember the number of cushions. Had there been a telescope, were the colours of the fabric murkier?

Next time, you swore a solemn oath to yourself. You wouldn’t let him catch you off-guard next time. Your knuckles protruded as you carved the words into your brain. Next time you saw him, your step would carry purpose. Anger would guide them, not crippling fear.

**< Simeon**

_Heard you were coming over ✌.ʕʘ‿ʘʔ.✌ Luke’s busy making snacks, looking forward to it (☆Θ艸Θ)_

_Please stop 눈_눈_

_Oh! I didn’t know you could do emojis, too! ( ╹ਊ╹)_

_This is the only one I know that sums up my mood rn_

Satan wasn’t one to overstep boundaries and Leviathan was, as he declared one, a socially awkward nervous wreck when around other ‘normies’ and no gaming or giving commands to his navy or whatever. You didn’t mind it; the morning’s mishap remained too fresh despite you unable to recall what you had even thrown.

“You… um… still interested in playing Mononoke Land with me? I know it’s not the most _exciting_ game, but I, um, really enjoyed last night. Wait, not in that way! I meant—you know what I mean!”

Classes were slightly better today. Better, as in you slipped out of your disassociations faster. It gave you great joy when you thought of cutting that crazy demon with a steak knife, beating him with the power you’d never have.

“Have fun in Purgatory,” Satan saw you off, unsmiling. Petty ass.

“Shall we?”

Solomon held out his hand. What did he want, a tip?

“Okay, low five!” You slapped it with all your might. “Let’s go to Purgatory Hall.”

You power-walked with your tingling palm, struggling off the awkward feeling. How were you supposed to know what he meant by that?

“Once I told Simeon you were coming, he insisted we all hang out in their room. Mine is pretty small so it would get crowded very easily.”

You really didn’t care. You were preoccupied with staring up at the majestic building named Purgatory Hall, remembering that the last time you were here, you were with Beel and that maniac. Right, Diavolo’s lackey had bound the rabid demon with a wave. That gave you a fresh wave of… pleasure, right? There was another word for it, but perhaps intricate vocabulary wasn’t your strong suit.

“This way.”

“You’re here! We’ve been waiting for you!”

Come to think, nothing bad to you happened in purgatory; the irony didn’t escape you. But then you never really ‘lamented’ in the House of Lamentation, either. Thus, you were in Luke and Simeon’s room sitting on a plush couch, still in uniform.

“Please, make yourself at home.”

Your jacket was already squished into a ball to your side with your tie in its left pocket. If you really wanted to make yourself at home, you’d have stripped to your underwear.

“It’s not much since I didn’t know you were coming today, but I still tried!” Luke set down a cake laden with frosted flowers. “The cookies are almost done! And this is nectar from the Celestial Realm!”

It looked like milk. Milk shouldn’t be silver.

“Well?”

“Everything’s delicious.” How much cake could you cut for yourself before you started to look like a fatass?

Aww, now he was grinning. Was it because he resembled a child, or because he was an angel?

“Ah, you’re smiling again. A smile suits everyone and it graces you without exception,” Simeon nodded. “Please, eat as much as you’d like. We’re not keeping you from dinner, are we?”

What dinner? Cake could be dinner. Cake _was_ dinner. After you stuffed yourself you reclined back in bliss, warm and content. You haven’t had food like this in a while, and the last time you had cakes and scones and shit was with those demons—that demon. He could go fuck himself.

“Hey, can I crash here for the night?”

“Oh? Sure. Did you bring everything you need?”

“Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

They were angels; obviously they worried about it. Within minutes, you were offered a change of clothes, an extra toothbrush that they had lying around? and Simeon offered you his bed. You stubbornly refused; you had meant to crash on the couch and you didn’t expect them to capitulate to your unreasonable demand so easily.

“Please, you came as a guest.”

You snorted. “No, I came as a one-night freeloader running away from my problems.”

“We’re fellow exchange students, and I’d like to consider us friends,” Simeon smiled, beatific. “You can come here as often as you’d like.”

“Of course we’re friends! You’re one of the best humans I’ve ever met!”

“Aw, Luke, what about me?”

“You make fun of me too much, Solomon!”

“If you really want to sleep on the couch, go ahead.”

“I… thanks,” You scratched your head. “Thank you.” How strange that an unexpected kindness should be as unsettling as the ignorant cruelty native to the Hall of Lamentation. All of them were being kind, kinder than you had any right to expect.

“If you’re going to stay with us, would you mind if we talked?”

Yeah, you were going to, even with Solomon’s triumphant grin staring at you in the face. You wanted to vent, and these were likely the only people you could confide to around here without being shanked for it.

Still, you had to be careful not to run your mouth.

“I died.”

Could’ve worded that better.

“Which brother?” Solomon raised a finger to his chin. “Everyone is quite taken with you so unless it was an accident, I can only imagine that…”

“It was _not_ an accident.” You still boiled to think of it. “It was the youngest f—” You caught Luke’s eye. “—brother.”

Simeon shot you an appreciative look. “So that was why you left, from our last class. I didn’t realize such a thing had happened.”

“I don’t think it’d be something the council would want to make public knowledge,” Solomon remarked. “Then it’s safe to assume Barbatos used his powers to reverse the process?”

“Guess he forgot to reverse my memory along with it,” you idly scratched a spot on your cuff. “Guess you used his powers before?”

“Mm-mmm.” The fuck kinda answer was that? “Convincing him to make a pact was undoubtedly one of my more interesting ventures. Completely worth it, though. But yes. That wouldn’t be a pleasant memory to keep.”

“You don’t say.”

“Then I’m truly sorry. What I’ve said to you last class must’ve been very distressing.”

Yeah, you were done being anyone’s bridge at this point. You nodded at Simeon, sipping your cupful of liquid glitter.

“Wha… that’s so unfair!” Luke set his plate of half-eaten cake down. “A demon killed a human and gets away with it? Michael would never stand for this!”

“This is their domain, Luke,” the elder chided, “and if Barbatos used his power, there’s no concrete proof.” With a courteously questioning look at you. “Does he?”

You looked away. If such proof existed outside your crappy memory, would it get you far? No, it wouldn’t.

“What changed his mind?”

_Nothing big, just my heritage from an angel that your father-creator-whatever wanted utterly destroyed._

“Hell if I know. But what pisses me off is that,” you composed your nerves with an effort, sparing a smile for a worried Luke, “he acts as if nothing’s happened. I don’t trust him. I want—I want him to hurt.”

“Would you feel better if you killed him back?”

“Solomon! Why would you say that?”

You’ve definitely thought of it. Crushing his head like an overripe grape, ripping off his horns and stabbing it into his eyes. But those images unnerved as much as they satisfied, and not just because those fantasies were downright impossible to put into reality. To make it beyond the realm of imagination? Frustrating as it was, you also thought of the brothers’ distraught faces at such grisly prospects.

“It’s not like I have enough magical power to pull that off. And even if I did, no.”

“This explains Lucifer’s recent mood shifts. Might I recommend some advice?”

You gazed at Simeon, wary. What advice could an angel possibly give that wouldn’t further piss you off?

“If you’re going to preach about forgiveness for the sake of my soul, it’s still a little raw for that.”

He raised his hands in good-natured surrender. “Your soul is strong; it more than makes up for your lack of magic. But this incident has wounded you, veering you from your course. To regain that part of yourself, I can’t deny that forgiveness is the best method. But it’s not something that can be pressured, and it wasn’t the advice I meant to give.”

“You don’t just forgive someone killing you.” You pieced your next words together, hoping that the other human in the room wouldn’t contradict what you said next. “Humans—normal ones like me, that is—change. We get hurt a lot more easily.”

“I understand,” he laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. “The truth is: you’re angry and you need to work through it. Humans get hurt and they heal. You need to come to terms with what happened, work it out as a human. Not as an angel or a demon.”

Well, that was suspiciously prudent guidance. “How do you know so much?”

“I’ve spoken to Yeshua—sorry, the one you know as Jesus. He was human, too, once.”

Solomon murmured your name, inclining towards you. “I’m inclined to agree with Simeon on this one.”

“You shouldn’t forgive them at all if you don’t want to!” Luke puffed, incensed. “They’re _demons_ , and you were a lot nicer to them than I would’ve ever been, and they still did this?! Why I oughta… I oughta…”

“Calm down, Luke. Sit down, there’s a good boy.”

“Solomon! I told you _not_ to call me that!”

“Luke, you get riled up too easily,” Simeon gave him an affectionate headrub. “Solomon, stop teasing him.”

“But it’s so amusing,” he sighed. “So how do you plan to work through this? Since apparently I’m not a normal human.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t know where you got that assumption. I’m just another innocent lamb, same as you.” He winked. The blatantly ludicrous exaggeration got the response you couldn’t help but give: you burst into laughter, joined by Simeon and Luke.

“Unfortunately, I’m not an all-powerful sorcerer who can command an army of demons to pummel them to the ground.”

He shook his head, grinning. “I get the feeling your plan to work through this has a great risk on your wellbeing.”

“Better than no plan.” At any rate, everything was planned for you. You remembered what was left of your manners. “Thanks, you guys,” you said. You didn’t care if someone put them up to this; you had _needed_ this, this relief that none of the demon brothers could’ve given. “Thank you for inviting me here.”

“Come over anytime!” Luke beamed.

“Did we help?”

You glanced up to give a tired smile as your answer.

“Ah. I almost forgot to give you what you came for. If you’ll come with me before you go to sleep?”

You had never seen Solomon’s room before. How to phrase what you saw… an organized mess compared to yours. Then again, he had some forewarning before coming here. How much stuff did he bring? What did he want from you?

“Do you have a solid plan?”

You threw up your hands. “Why’re you so curious?”

“Because I worry about your physical safety.”

Ugh, good point. “Pretty sure I’m meant to die here, so doesn’t matter.”

He chuckled. “That’d be pretty anti-climactic for someone accomplished as you.”

“I mean, it already happened once.”

He nodded, contemplative. “So concerning this, I’m guessing your approach won’t be blind forgiveness?”

“If any of those demons give a damn about my forgiveness, they’ll know it won’t come cheap.”

“Then perhaps we could help each other?”

Now your curiosity was piqued; what sort of card did this devious scoundrel have up his sleeve this time? “No promises.”

“Naturally. All I ask is for a moment of your time, nothing more. And… ah! Here is what I wanted to give you.” He placed something into your hand.

“What…” You turned it over, not sure what to say. “Is this a music player?”

“Yeah, I never used it since I have a phone.” He tapped the screen. “I don’t know your music preferences, but it has about every kind of genre I can think of. It only has a couple thousand songs but there should be some you’re familiar with. Let’s see…”

He plugged one into his ear, tucking your hair behind as he put the other in yours. “Do you know Britain Spheres?”

What words could describe the swell of your feelings as the bass rumbled from the earphones to your head? How could you capture into phrase the rhythms of songs that you thought you remembered, only to be overwhelmed with not just the melody, but the memories you’ve associated each note with, the colours they painted the air?

“…Wow.” You clutched it, seeing your eyes gleam on the reflective surface. “I don’t… you’re giving _this_ to me?”

“Looks like it still works.” He withdrew his hand. “I feel you’d get more use out of it than me.”

You scrolled through the list with mounting delight; many of these songs, you knew and enjoyed. Eventually, you looked up. “You must want something in return.”

Solomon gave a mock bow. “Like I said, only a moment of your time.”

You laughed. “Pretty sure you want more than that. But all right, no harm in listening. Is there also a charger for this?”

Simeon was surprised but pleased to see you re-enter his room in noticeably better spirits. “Feeling better?”

“For now.” You flopped onto the couch. “Are you going to sleep soon?”

“In a bit. I have some material to review. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Some songs were hits your parents enjoyed more than you, many you never heard of before, but you didn’t care. Jackel Mikeson, Hoot Metropolis, something with Mongolian throat singing, and then there were songs that had accompanied pieces of your childhood. This was the closest you’ve felt home call to you.

“Hah?” You took off your earphones.

“I said, we’re ready to sleep now. Do you want to stay up a little longer?” Luke stifled a yawn.

“No, let’s sleep.” You put the player under your pillow.

“Oh, and… I think that’s your D.D.D. over there. It keeps getting notifications from those demons. Want me to bring it to you?”

“I—yeah, sure.” You had to step out of the dream eventually. “Who’re they from?”

“Whoa! You have so many messages!”

**< Asmodeus**

_Heard from Solomon that you’re having a sleepover at Purgatory Hall. I’m so jealous! I want all of the juicy details when you come back!_

_House of Lamentation just isn’t the same without you. Everyone’s so gloomy, even Lucifer!_

_Hurry up and return to us soon~ we could have a pyjama party right here too, you know!_

_Asmo, you don’t wear pyjamas._

_Exactly! Even better😉_

_If you convince Lucifer and the rest first, I’ll join. Good night._

**< Belphegor**

_I heard you tried to comfort Beel. For what it’s worth, thanks for trying._

_Did you really have to throw that knife at me? Does me being near you terrify you that much?_

_Heard from Levi that you were causing trouble since you came here. Looks like everyone misses you._

_You’re coming back tomorrow, right? We should talk. I’ll listen this time._

_Fuck you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the story summary says it's a _retelling_ of Chapters 1-16 but that just derailed after the first chapter. Everything onwards is just me pretending I know where my writing's going and doing the most ridiculous online searches to finagle them into one chapter after another. Here's to another bout of improvisation!


	7. Roaring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tfw you get so mad you say things just to hurt them back and then you feel slightly guilty about it afterwards but they wronged you first and you _have_ to get even with them so they at least _know_ a shred of the pain they caused you but it's not pain it's anger because _you didn't ask for this_ but no one asks for their fate and you _know_ life isn't fair so you think on how to make this 'even' as if that's even possible but you have to work this out like a person and to do that you need to hurt they need to hurt everyone should hurt because maybe then they'd finally have an idea of what you went through even if it would never be the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop! Now that I have most of my notes for this story organized I _think_ I'm halfway-ish. But man if writing this wasn't one of the most cathartic alphabet soup I've ever prepared.

Whoever said shit didn’t get done by planning was right.

For once, your sleep was uninterrupted. Did someone touch your cheek while you slept, or were your dreams finally borrowing inspiration from the softer glow of kinder days? Whether it was an indulgent Simeon or the memory of your mom, you woke with refreshed eyes and more energy than you’ve had in a while.

“You can use the bathroom first. I tend to take a while.”

You still had trouble converting Devildom time to Earth time. If it were basic math, you’d have something to remember, but alas, things were never simple around here. If demons used the Gregorian calendar, then they were doing a shitty job using it _consistently_.

So in _their_ time, not even a week had passed since that pathetic excuse of a tea party; time lost meaning in confinement.

“Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“You’re welcome.”

You knew if you crawled back to them tonight, they’d let you in before you uttered a single plea. It was because you knew that you latched yourself onto your crutch, armed with the intangible solidarity that Purgatory had given, igniting within you the appetite to face everything.

“You’re looking better.”

You exchanged glances with Solomon. He watched you with an intensity that was… speculative, you decided. You stared right back, wondering how easy he thought he could read you. You nodded, eliciting a pleased smile from him.

“After you.”

Purgatory Hall was located farther than the House of Lamentation. Better safe than sorry to keep the angels and demons spart, but then why the fuck weren’t you also assigned to the Hall—oh wait.

“Don’t be afraid to give those demons a piece of your mind!” Luke patted your arm with a grin.

“I’d exercise a bit more caution than that,” Simeon gave him a sideways glance, “Knowing Lucifer and his brothers, I’m sure this weighs on their minds, too.” To you, “Do you have a chance to lay everything out in the open?”

“Lucifer did say he’d hold a…” If you kept saying ‘intervention’, they’d think you had a drug addiction. “…group meeting.”

“Yes, that sounds like something he’d come up with,” Simeon thumbed through his notes. “I hope it’ll help more than it’ll hurt.”

“I’d recommend you be on your guard. Lucifer has a tendency to turn even a simple conversation to his benefit. Believe me when I say,” Solomon warned, the tiniest crease forming between his brows, “his pride puts you at a disadvantage.”

You frowned, turned away without answering. Solomon had his plans… and so did you. Nothing as convoluted as the sorcerer, definitely, but then again: you weren’t here to one-up everybody.

“Our classes are in the adjacent building. You’ll be… all right?”

“I’ll figure it out as I go along,” you already had one earphone in.

“If something does happen, let us know… and maybe check your D.D.D. more often?”

Oh, that thing. “Erm…”

You plugged in the other earphone, hitting _play._ The endorphins that rushed with the first bass drop: magical. You stared at your sanity-preserving device with adoration, wondering why you ever thought it weird how Mammon coddled his ‘Goldie’.

“Finally, no class tomorrow~♫” Asmo waltzed into class. “Ah, there you are! How was the sleepover?”

“How’s it that you’re here earlier than us?”

Because angels were punctual? Because they never tried to kill you? You shoved it into your jacket. “Magic. And the sleepover was great.”

“Ha!” Mammon slid into the chair beside you. “How fun could it really be? What’s that you got there?”

You swallowed; good feelings, gone. You and your poor habit of always leaving one earpiece hanging out your pocket for easy access. “It’s mine.”

“Come on, let me see!” He fished it from your pocket, snatching it before you could grab it back. “Eh, what’s this, it’s just a music player. Wait, this technically classifies as an antique and—is this from the human world?”

“Give it back.” You held out your hand, your voice layered with command. “Now.”

You had almost lost control. Almost. The rage that emerged to mask your panic diminished, but not much. You allowed yourself a smirk as his arm jerked forward, dropping the music player back into your outstretched hand.

It was times like these where you felt the worth of the pacts. They obeyed faster when you focused on the order you uttered, gave your words undivided prominence. Stowing your prize away, you tilted your head.

“No one touches this except me.” Your expression was smooth. “Do you understand? This is _mine.”_

You turned to Asmo, ignoring whatever reaction the other blustered out.

“Don’t worry about that scumbag Mammon!” He squeezed against your arm, wearing his most charming smile. “He’s been insufferable since morning. You wouldn’t believe what Beel ate today!” he shuddered.

You allowed yourself to relax, feeling your tension start to ebb as he continued. Though he seldom kept quiet, it wasn’t a conversation. No, he _prattled,_ all the while keeping a respectful distance from your music player. Responding with the minimal amount of output to keep him contented, you even let Mammon rejoin the banter, nodding along as if nothing had happened.

 _Come to terms._ Like there was a tried-and-true procedure to come to terms with everything that had happened so far, what with everything that had gotten you shafted. How did one work through this ‘like a human’? You were the only human here! And Solomon didn’t count.

Think! What would you have done back home? Ranted to friends, watched funny videos on MeTube, the punching bag downstairs. Here, you only had a rage that had always been cut short every time the bridle slipped off.

Decisions, ideas, thoughts; you tossed them like the coins you threw into fountains as a child. It was impossible to know what the best outcome was or if such a concept was plausible. But you’d make one. And if it was the most idiotic, the most flawed choice you made, it would still be yours. Not a demon’s, especially not a fallen angel’s.

You’d make do. Damn you, you would. Not everyone had five demons at their command.

Odd how, even now, you were reluctant to enforce your pacts unless the brothers were deliberately in your way. You could still surprise yourself. How was it that you respected their personal freedom when none had given a damn about yours?

Stockholm’s, probably.

The professor for this class never asked questions; she droned on and on without pause, which was the perfect lecture for Mammon to slack off, and for you to skim through the textbook reading content irrelevant to the class while music carried you to brighter, exciting places in your mind’s eye.

Earphones hurt your ears if you left them on for several hours. But even that pain was a pain you had almost forgotten, and you revelled in it as you listened to FrontLane Fellows and Hansen Zither.

“So is that a yes?”

You gave him the Kubrick stare. “If you shut up right now, yes, I will go to Majolish with you next week.”

“Aha, it’s a date then! Gotcha!” Asmo sealed his lips, looking far too pleased for your comfort. You put back on your earpiece for the fifth time.

 **“What.”** You snarled when Mammon shook you by the shoulder. Did they seriously not get how pissed you were to have your music constantly interrupted?

“Geez, sorry. Go back to your music, then.”

“Just sat what’s on your mind.” You eyed him. “Spit it out already.”

“What? I wasn’t goin’ to say nothing on how everyone’s—not me—super depressed that you’re not hanging around with us anymore! What, you think only the angels are good enough for ya?”

“Yes.” Your fingertips tingled as you recalled the pact yet again. “Don’t bother me when I have my earphones in, you hear? Not. One. Peep.”

You shoved the plastic back in your ears and that was that. For now.

Classes went by faster with musically encouraged disassociation. The inevitable byproduct of you not paying a single grain of attention to the course content bothered you less and less; you’d just review everything later if it really mattered. Your current priority was: making the right playlist to blast your ears when you returned to Lamentation, the ideal combination of rage anthems and pitch-warped electronics.

You marched through campus and into the hall like you were some fucking Viking warlord, discordant metallic beats worming into your head and tearing it to pieces.

“Oh, hey, you’re back—oh, okay,” he muttered as you clomped right past him, blasting your earphones. “Knew you didn’t actually like hanging around me.”

“Levi, they’ve been like that to _all_ of us. You’re not special.”

“That’s… are you insulting me or trying to make me feel better?”

“It is what it is,” He cast a look to the deaf and oblivious you, but still lowered his voice. “At least you’re not Belphie.”

Both glanced towards the planetarium at that, then the kitchen. When you turned to open the door to your room, you saw them out of the corner of your eye: the third and fourth, looking at your direction. Aw, what frowny faces they had. You raised your hand, fingers spasming to mimic a wave.

Oops. You didn’t mean to slam the door that hard. But your hand had closed around the knob just as the song was building up for the final chorus drop and… bam! What else could you do at such perfect timing?

You had to take them off to change into your shorts, though. You held up Satan’s wrinkled sweater, scowling as guilt thudded against your conscience like a second heartbeat. After dinner, you compromised.

Homework was done to Imagine Flying Lizards and while you were at it, you cleaned your room to the song your parents danced to on their tenth anniversary. You didn’t get through half the song before you quickly switched it to something that wouldn’t make your heart crawl into a corner and disintegrate.

Some of these songs you remembered dancing with your high school friends on Just Prance. You set the volume to max.

Ballroom dancing required a partner and any dances outside it, no comment. But that didn’t stop you from bobbing your head, flailing your hands, and wiggling your ass in the privacy of your room to the rhythms that channelled your inner gas station tube man. You spun once, twice, falling onto your freshly made bed with a breathless laugh.

And then you saw the doorway. The _open_ doorway.

“God damn it,” you groaned, plucking off your earphones with the darkest expression you could muster.

“I knocked,” he muttered, hanging his head, either in secondhand embarrassment or to hide his amusement. Hard to tell.

“Leave it out next time.” You peeked out the door, making sure no one else was around. “Did Lucifer make you do this?”

“No, I asked to.” He raised his head, looking defeated than anything else. “You shouldn’t skip meals.”

The tray was laden with more food than you’ve ever seen. No way you could eat it all. You were contemplating what to start with when you realized he was still standing there.

“I wanted to eat with you.”

You blinked, irritation giving way to pain. How stupid was he to still want to do that after your last conversation? With bated breath, you brought a hand to your forehead.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, but sure.”

He blinked. “Is that a yes?”

You shrugged. It was as close to an invitation he was going to get. Sitting cross-legged on the floor across from him, you reached for the sushi platter.

“That’s…”

“What?” You thought he liked the cheeseburgers best; that’s why you didn’t touch that pile.

“Nothing! Nothing,” he nodded. “Eat.”

At least one of you seemed to be in better spirits. Still, you noticed how he was very careful as if you would shatter at the merest touch, in sharp contrast with the fervour as he devoured his food. You felt guilt mix with appreciation as he nudged a whole pack of pudding towards you.

“It’s the newest flavour from Madam Scream’s. I wanted to eat it together.”

He liked the chocolate pudding best, dumping them into his basket by the armful when you had tagged him to the sweetery for the first time. You bit your lip. You didn’t want to think about it, the sideways smile he had given you when he gave you one cup, you didn’t want to see his heartache.

“It’s good,” you pushed the rest back to him. “I’m fine with one.”

When the last of the food was scarfed down, you resumed leaning against your bedpost, ill at ease. If that damned demon was going to be tonight’s subject of discussion, it certainly wasn’t going to be brought up by you.

“Why did you come here?” you managed to ask.

“Whenever I buy something delicious, I think of sharing it with you.”

“I see.” You fidgeted, uncomfortably warm.

You heard your name from him, a ginger intonation that fluttered against your back. “Do you hate me now?”

How young he looked. And you thought you were vulnerable in a place like this. “No, I don’t,” you pushed your words out with a herculean effort. “I don’t hate you.”

You hated yourself for saying that, for seeing the hope that stole into his features at that admission. You couldn’t hate him for asking that.

_Work it out as a human. Start with the simplest truths._

“I don’t want to die like that again.”

“And you won’t.” He reached out for your hands before recoiling, remembering your reaction. “I swear it on our pact.”

If only that was enough. “And if your brother attacks me again?”

“He won’t. But I’ll stop him,” he swallowed, determined eyes staring back at you. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, even if it’s Belphie.”

You felt the sacrifice behind that promise. Your anger simmered but refused to tip over; he wasn’t the right catalyst. You reached out your hand, allowed him to clasp it as your vision threatened to blur. You told yourself it was frustration struggling against the confines you placed upon yourself, waiting to be processed _in the human way._

“Are you sure you’re still not seeing me as Lilith?” You half-joked, keen to change the mood.

His hand spasmed around yours. “No. You’re not. She’s the reason you’re here, but you’re not her.”

Something about the way he said it hurt. Was the certainty derived from his own volition or planted by Lucifer’s will? Which would hurt less?

“How do you know that?”

“Belphie punched me in the face.”

What the fuck?

“I blamed myself for a lot of things. Lilith, Belphie being locked away. I didn’t think he’d forgive me, but when everyone made us talk, he told me… he never thought it was my fault. But he said if I force Lilith’s image onto you, then—I would be causing you pain you couldn’t forgive. Because you’re… you’re your own person. Belphie and I will always be twins, but we’re still different people outside that bond.”

Your first thought: this was the longest he had spoken to you without reaching out for a snack.

Second thought: why the fuck would Belphegor of all demons say that? If he was the one who convinced Beel of all people _then why didn’t he kill you already?_

Heart pounding, you loosened your other hand and brought it up to your own face, crimping into a ball of repressed violence.

The sound of your name pulled you back into reality. Inhale, exhale. Something about you not being Lilith. He was looking at you, hoping, waiting. You weren’t taking these breaths to eradicate the surge of passion. You were biding, postponing.

“I see,” you said, and, while an astute ear might have detected echoes of strain, Beelzebub heard nothing in your voice but a hint of your usual stress. “I guess, even after all this, I still know nothing.”

“Neither do I.”

You closed your eyes. This time, he was the first to release your hand.

“I have to go to the gym,” he muttered, clearly not raring to leave you. “Can we talk more later?”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Lucifer’s having dinner with Lord Diavolo, I think Mammon went to Hocus Pocus with Levi. Oh, and Asmo told me to give this to you.” A half-full container of aloe. “It didn’t taste that good.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m good now.” You checked your legs, partially faded yellow spots backing your claim. “I guess he’s busy?”

“He went to buy some premium chocolates or something. Heh. Chocolate. But yeah, everyone should be off doing their own thing now.”

“And Beel.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t, uh, tell anyone what you saw, okay? I was just listening to music.” You cleared your throat. “It’s been a long week.” Or however long it had been.

“Oh. Sure.” He gave a small smile. “You looked… like you were having fun. I’m glad.”

You tugged at your collar. “Just knock louder next time. Don’t open the door.”

“Can I listen to what you were dancing to?”

Now there was an image: you and him, playing Just Prance. A corner of your lips twitched. “Someday. Go do your workout.”

Being the sole occupant again reinforced a semblance of loneliness that music couldn’t fully drown out. Maybe you just needed a change of scenery; you still had that liberty. And fewer demons to bother you? All the better.

Except where to go? The question ricocheted in your head as you pulled on a shirt. With taut wariness, you peeked out the door. Everything was indeed quiet. You still kept one ear clear, half-listening to the melody tinkling out the earpiece. If everyone had eaten or was eating somewhere else, there was one place you could go that you _knew_ would be empty.

The dish you could make with guaranteed edibility was fried rice. You chopped, the sizzling aroma of black garlic (demons apparently didn’t appreciate regular garlic) and the tune assembling the illusion that no, you weren’t in hell! This was two years ago when you were sent to live alone for the first time, literally throwing stuff together like a drunken monkey hoping something would stick.

You glanced at the doorway less and less, immersing yourself as you cut, stirred, and hummed. Alas, the autoplay shuffle left much to be desired; jumping from The Beetles to Nicholas Menage was jarring, to say the least. Dumping the fried rice into a bowl, you sifted for a better alternative.

The rice was decent. You’d have eaten more if you weren’t so full; Beel could have the rest.

Before you could skip to the next song, your neck pricked. You already learned to trust your gut instincts the hard way; ripping off your earphones and tucking it in, you grabbed the nearest object and faced the door.

For a second, you thought it was Beel. How was that possible? They were twins in name alone.

“Oh, it’s you.”

The rice sat ill. You were numb, fearing the moment when the numbness would give way to emotions you weren’t sure you could deal with. Yup, just you. No other elder demon to hold him back.

Or you. Not that this had been part of your plan, but could you honestly say that you didn’t expect this kind of risk when you stepped out of your room? Didn’t a part of you _want_ to face him out of suicidal spite?

“Fuck outta my way,” you warned, dropping your voice an octave despite the shaking.

He planted his feet. You knew you couldn’t sprint to the other exit in time. Fear bubbled and paled as ghoulish exhilaration reared its head, sparking vitality into your limbs. Now that you were cornered, forced to face this demon, you could swing back with a savagery that would make every previous outburst pale in comparison.

“I just want to talk.”

Hilarious.

“I’m one life short of believing that, _demon.”_ You sounded like you ate gravel.

He cocked his head. Did he seriously have a strap to his pillow like a goddamn handbag? “You keep running away from me. Are you planning to keep this up for the rest of your time here?”

Why was everyone so curious about your plans? “Don’t come any closer.”

You’ve seen resting bitch faces worse than his. Yet how was it that he could be so composed about this when you clearly weren’t? How could he sleep easy and re-adjust seamlessly while you blundered through this quagmire like a spectre, tumbling into one scrape after another?

“I won’t hurt you.” He just looked bored, or mildly inconvenienced! While you were here, burning, surviving, trying to **come to terms** with this debacle—your veins thrashed against your head, bulged throughout your body. “You’re hurt—I can feel it. Lucifer said we’d hold a meeting but,” he shrugged, “it might help if we start early.”

Be still, your beating heart. It was just you and this greasy spatula against this asshole, you supposed.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Bypassing that an apology wasn’t even close to making up for what—what the **_fuck_** kinda apology was **_that?!_ **

You stood, incredulous, as he continued. “I mean… I’m sorry. I didn’t know—didn’t realize—that everything still affected you. Everyone is walking on eggshells because of this and none of them know what to do. You ignore your D.D.D. and we’re running out of solutions. Everyone wants you to come back.”

Each word struck you with the force of a shout. So that’s how the demon was going to play, was it? Traps upon traps?

“I’m not falling for your deceit a third time, _demon.”_ You spat it like it was the worst insult you could give.

Your anger so far had been unrelenting, unforgiving, crying out for retaliation. Now murderous rage formed into an edge for vengeance you longed to press against that damned demon’s throat, aided by spite at this mockery.

“You’re hurting Beel. You’re hurting the rest of my brothers over this.”

This, he said. “Why? Did they die while I wasn’t looking? Better yet, did I _kill_ them?”

“Nothing’s going to change until you speak what’s on your mind. What’s stopping you now?” He took another step and you resisted the step back that would so nakedly show your fright. A guttural snarl ripped into your chest.

“Since when did you care so much for your brothers?” You sneered. “Shouldn’t you be arguing with them while you plan your next massacre? Or is that going to be a surprise before they lock you up again?”

You saw his eyes flicker and felt the first twinge of grim gratification. So he was still affected by his past incarceration. Not that it could compare to your griefs.

“I’m not going to attack you again, all right?”

 _“Sure_ you aren’t,” You ignored the thrum of your fingers. “Of course you wouldn’t want to hurt Lilith’s child. So, what’s with the horseshit you fed Beel about me being otherwise, huh?”

He ruffled a hand through his hair. “Isn’t it the truth?”

It was; you didn’t expect him to see it. “What’re you playing at?”

He shook his head. You wanted to rip off that lazy, almost blasé expression and stomp it to pieces. “I’m not playing. It’s the truth: you’re not Lilith. You’re nothing like her.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to justify killing me? _Because I’m nothing like Lilith?”_

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you meant!” You took a step toward him this time, eclipsed by this desire to hate—desire to hit back. “I’ve had enough of your lies! What’s the point of this façade, what is this supposed to accomplish?”

“You don’t have to yell, I can hear you just fine. Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair? I’m trying to start us on a new leaf. Nothing’s going to get anywhere otherwise.”

That effectively erased any remnants of reconciliation your subconscious had clung to. “I died because of you!”

“You came back!”

“It’s not that simple! I don’t expect you to understand but don’t try to tell me what I should feel, demon!” You gripped your spatula, channelling all the wrath in your body. “You have no right!”

“What should I do, then?” his voice wavered as he inched towards you. “I earned everyone else’s trust back. Are you really going to avoid _everyone_ just because I’m here without giving me a chance?”

“Oh, they trust you now? And which one of them was the first one to fall for your ‘poor-me’ act first? Who was the stupidest out of the bunch for you to trick, huh?”

You didn’t give him time to answer. “It was _me_ , you son of a bitch! I trusted you first, and I was enough of an idiot to fall for your act twice. God, I just—and-and you _killed_ me! Think I’m dumb enough to forget something like _that?!_ You fucking bastard demon, you disgusting psychopath piece of shit, and you dare _demand_ my trust?”

“I’m not demanding anything! I’m asking that we put everything behind and start over,” he muttered in a quieter aside, “I see what Levi meant now.”

“Why? Is Lilith’s blood inconvenient now that I won’t play along with your sick game? That’s right, I’m not Lilith, never will be! Lilith is **dead**! She’s never coming back!”

“I know that!” Good, yell louder, you thought, relief dawning with fear. The demon was finally roused into revealing its true colours again. “I _know_ she’s not coming back. And so much of that is my own damn fault!”

“Then you should’ve snapped your own neck, demon! How did my skull feel in your hands? Betcha want to crush it all over again, don’t you? Well, here I am!”

“You are seriously the most suicidal human I’ve met.” He lowered his head.

“Why?” A peal of vindication rang from your mouth. “Who put me here? Who put me here and left me to spill my guts out? Not like it bothered any of you, did it?”

“Then what is it you want from me?” He looked up, visibly disturbed. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but even so, shouldn’t we reach a better place? Or are you seriously going to scream and run every time we bump into each other?”

“And here I thought you _liked_ humans screaming in terror as they ran from you! What did Lucifer lock you up for then, a silly misunderstanding?” You threw those words back at him, looking all around you in mounting ferocity. “Look, no one’s around to see your act, demon! I’m practically on a platter for you and I’ll die a thousand times more before you ever get _my_ trust!”

“There’s no need to go that far,” he said, sighing as if he was witnessing a child’s tantrum. It boiled your blood. You wanted to _break_ him. If you were going to fall apart like this, you weren’t going alone. “Some people would tell you that this isn’t the wisest attitude to take with a demon. Look, you’re not a child.”

Like he was the first demon to ever tell you that.

“You _killed_ me because your sister fell in love with a _human!_ That was her choice and you shifted the blame to all humans because of something **Lilith** decided to do! You did—you did—” you were choked with disbelieving anger that you had to pause, panting for air. “—after everything you did, you call _me_ the child? Name a single act you did that makes you wiser and mature than me!”

Your harsh breaths were telling, warning you to preserve strength. You were, however, far from being done. By now you were several feet apart, steps away from spatula striking range.

“I loved Lilith!” His eyes held flecks of crimson, betraying himself. “I lost her and I have an eternity to remember that! But I’m still trying to talk to you!”

“So I should _thank_ you for trying? The demon who blamed me for being stupid enough to fall for your tricks? You want me to _listen_ to you? Listen to yourself, you stupid fuck!”

“You can’t just cut yourself off from the rest of us!”

“Watch me!”

You saw horns curl, parting hair. Eerie light wrapped around his figure, a tail swishing into existence behind him. Your forehead was slippery with sweat, your armpits, your crotch. But you were too far gone for that to sway your actions.

“And just what’ll that accomplish?” he asked, taking another step towards you. “Is cursing me helping you at all? We’re both outcasts here no matter what. For someone with angel blood in them, you’re awfully like a demon.”

“And by **_God,_** I must be cursed to have met a lowly piece of trash like you! Do I look like an angel, bitch?!” You slapped your hand over your chest, humanity roaring through your blood. “HA! I wish I wasn’t, demon! I wish Lilith never lived! I wish she never existed so she wouldn’t have a witless imbecile of a brother like you! An angel as pathetic as her shouldn’t even have been born as a human in the first place _and dumped her family issues onto me! I WISH SHE DIED IN THE WAR YOU GUYS CREATED!”_

This was not strictly true; you weren't sure yet of the exact nature of your feelings for Lilith. You knew how you felt about this crazy demon, though—angrier than you had ever been, angry enough to want to wound where it would hurt the most. You saw that you had succeeded beyond all your expectations.

He was struck speechless, his ambivalent self-possession replaced with the expressive intensity of dawning pain.

“Don’t say that!” He managed to get out, his voice nearly strangled with emotion as his transformation completed full circle. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that!”

You let out a burbling, exultant sound, with the strangest sense of triumphant freedom you’ve felt in the Devildom. So this was it, the throes of madness! You were mad, and with it, the singular elation of hot pleasure spread in your brain like a drug.

“Then kill me! Just what everyone expects from you.” You shot out a hand, latching onto his collar as if it were a lifeline. Could he see how your hand was trembling? “Prove. Them. Right.”

He almost looked frightened (as frightened as a demon could be), lifting up his hands, twisting his face as if he’d cry. Work it out as a human, you stupidly told yourself. Jesus was human. _What would Jesus do?_

Pathetic. You didn’t know who you aimed that word at. Your mouth wasn’t the only part imbibed with this grotesque vigour that you must yield to; as a final desperate or envenomed act, you swung your other hand across.

They said the tongue was the most dangerous weapon but surely whipping a demon across the face so hard that the spatula bent deserved points for ingenuity.

Clearly he didn’t expect that; with a gasp, he stumbled backwards, tripping over one of the footstools. He made a frantic swipe for the table, but his ankle gave away and he went down hard as the table was knocked over, and—well, you had still held onto him, so you followed. Your fingers abruptly loosened upon impact; by sheer instinct you rolled away, pain jolting up your spine and dizziness stealing your breath.

Your head ached as you stared at him, face flaming. He was the first to look away as you righted yourself, your palms so sticky with sweat they slipped against the table leg several times. Yup, definitely splinters.

“Well?” You spoke again when you ensured a firmer voice. “How was the _talk,_ demon? Everything you wanted?”

Never mind, your voice was about as firm as pudding. Chocolate pudding. Berry pudding. A piece of wishful thinking and dancing crazy, diluting the seizure of mania you thought—maybe hoped—was irreversible.

But the sentiment that seeped back wasn’t for the demon in front of you.

“Get up!” You snapped. “What’re _you_ sad about? Get the fuck up!”

His bangs were covering both eyes now. You saw his mouth open as if to speak, but snap shut the next.

The imprint of the spatula on his cheek should’ve given you more enjoyment. Didn’t he laugh as he watched you die? You deserved to feel that same euphoria, and you did, at the moment. Were you conflicted now because you knew that wound would heal instantly, leaving not even the memory behind?

The only lasting mark you could make was with words and you were going to make that count.

“Don’t blame me for Lilith,” You relished the balk of his shoulders, adding with malice, “Blame yourself for letting her die. Though I guess it would be hard to choke yourself than some human.”

Had one of the other brothers stepped in at this moment, maybe they would’ve cut you short, had someone pulled you aside midway, had your well of pity not been long since dry… if only. What if. Every being regardless of origin possessed these echoes, underlying their psyche. To you, in the present, those voices were gagged into silence.

He picked himself up and quitted the kitchen, giving you the briefest of unfathomable looks.

You were left alone, the winner. It was the hardest battle you’ve fought—and won. The first dozen heartbeats, you stood, savouring the victor’s tranquillity. The mirth, however, subsided to its crux of what returned in waves, the anticipation of consequence and reaction that chilled you to the bone.

Impulse commandeered muscle control, jerking you forward with spastic movements comparable to a doll forced into motion by tangled strings. Your furious feelings, curbed by none, had lighted, devoured, scalded: now blackened and ravaged, they revealed nothing but corroded truth.

Dragging yourself inside, the door closed so quietly it was as if no one had left.

When the brothers returned from their respective activities, the only remarkable thing to note in the kitchen was an extra bowl of garlic fried rice and a spatula veered to the right.


	8. Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The riddle of the universe was the _why_ of undeserved pain. Sure, there were people around you that interpreted their answers however they liked. But for your share, you obsessed over it for a day or two before the pain was forgotten, worn by time and outshone by the present that soothed your worries. You knew life was unfair, but you didn't realize how fucked up it was until you got shafted like this.
> 
> The demons wanted you to polish your soul? Acquire the power to resist them? Never mind the 'polishing' bit but resist, you could do. You'd even go crazy if that's what it took. In a place filled with demons, how could it not be inappropriate to go insane? Then they'd really get to see your soul; insanity came in many forms to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just realized all the chapters so far have been one continuous flow (Not sure how I pulled that off without a single time skip) but I think 8 chapters is enough to establish this MC and their standing so starting next chapter I'll fast forward a bit; hopefully, that doesn't destroy everything built so far.
> 
> Blah blah some insightful quote about how it's harder to fix something/someone than breaking them. Same. I busted ass trying to start the 'fixing' process and wow it's a piece of work OTL
> 
> Special thanks for ForeverAlone5 for beta-reading! At last I have some guidance woot

Minutes, hours; you didn’t know how much time passed before the eerie hush that paralyzed your senses in numbing reprieve wore off, leaving you to deal with the piled-on stimuli. You hadn’t even made it to your bed, knees collided against the wooden floor as you doubled over.

Clutching yourself, you rocked back and forth, indifferent to the pain against your legs, to everything except this rising fervour that skirted the boundary between euphoria and perversity.

At last. You broke him. Warm schadenfreude stirred, revelling in how that damned demon was vulnerable as an infant where Lilith was concerned. Replaying his anguish, you remembered the words that broke him and turned them over in your mouth like stolen candy, demented glee melting your little dead heart.

You were glad, glad that he was hurt. Let him feel what it’s like, to have trauma aggravated, even if it wouldn’t last and he’d go back to dicking around with his brothers and forget.

Then the slight touch of unease intertwined: not if you had gone too far, but it wouldn’t sound good at all, to have this story repeated to the rest. You had broken—obliterated, more like—the first rule you had set as an iron standard: don’t insult another’s family. But Lilith was—which made them also your—but your _real_ family—

Life back home had its hardships, sure, but this one took the cake and fucked it, too; all you needed was a guilt-tripping dream-call from the angel herself for the cherry on top.

But you were still glad. Writhing on the senseless floor, you thought this was just one more reason to hate those demons, that they made you so much like them, able to take pleasure in another’s pain, to be a sadistic witness to their shadowed pain, a pain so different from yours because that was the only kind of pain they knew.

Your first fit of laughter was filled with short-lived bliss before it devolved into wet, throttled sounds. You laughed, you cackled, you were now on your hands and knees unable to stop and—ohhh you were going to retch again.

You made it to the bathroom, not without some spatter getting on the floor. Aw. You had just cleaned that.

Still on all fours, you vomited a thick creamy black stuff that looked like porridge. Chunks of rice floated, reminiscent of maggots you’d see in compost in high summer. Dinner and phlegm and God-knows-what swirled in the bowl, the putrid odour hanging after you flushed and haphazardly wiped the spots with toilet paper.

Your hands were shaking so hard but you couldn’t shut up. The uncontrollable tides demanded acknowledgement and you were only human, fallen to the same level as that damned demon.

Would any of the brothers forgive you for what you had said? No—not when they rejected heaven for her.

Did you care? No—not how Beel would react or what Lucifer would say, now how every one of them would turn against you. Your terrible, unforgivable words to match a terrible, unforgivable series of actions.

Your shoulders shook, racked by unstrung giggles entangled with dry sobs. You struggled to stop; how could you? You were caught up in dark undercurrents of emotion beyond understanding, teetering at a precipice that beckoned.

You had recoiled from that demon’s hatred, his madness, and created your own to mirror it. How could you see the hilarity of your hypocrisy, the irony, and not laugh as you mourned?

Every time you thought it’d finally subside, you saw his face as you bitch-slapped him, his faltering expression that collapsed into itself like a rotting jack-o-lantern, this absolute lunatic, and you were down again, gripping your sides with your head bowed as you convulsed.

Somewhere a door opened, footsteps and other voices burrowing into your ears. Mammon? Asmo? Suddenly the room was full of people, hovering over you, all talking at once. You didn’t like that but you didn’t trust yourself to coherently tell them to shut up, so you just laughed louder.

A fog you didn’t notice till now cleared from your eyes; strong arms were around you, holding you. You saw them staring at you in dismay, and it seemed even funnier to you that they should be so alarmed, their astonishment repulsively comical, and you cacophony grew, silencing them, brittle screeches that sounded monstrous even to your ears.

Among the frozen and stunned, it was Asmodeus who acted first. Without pausing to reflect, he bounded off, snatching the music player that had fallen from you. With a sharp cry he threw it at his brother, who caught it with a swing of his arm, earphones and all.

Gradually the peak of your madness declined, with some stray giggles straggling out of your overworked throat.

Hands. Flitting over your ears, clasping your shoulders, supporting the base of your head, picking off bits of wood from your palms. In your ears danced a nameless melody that held no old memories for you except these faces with their moving lips and wide-eyed looks filled with relief as they saw you come back to them. When was the last time someone had held you?

Who said reality wasn’t cruel?

You answered with an animalistic sound that came from your mouth, one devoid of all mirth, as forceful as vomit. The hands tightened, not like those that had wrapped your neck. You felt yourself being lifted up and instinctively you buried your face into the nook of their shoulder, whoever it was. It smelled like comfort and you wondered why you didn’t hug your mom enough before everything went to shit.

“I’m going to find him.” That couldn’t be Asmo’s voice. It should lilt, not grind against fangs.

Cold sweat beaded your scalp, doing your newfound migraine no favours as you opened your eyes. You didn’t remember being in bed. You certainly didn’t remember getting _into_ bed with anyone else.

Correction: he was on your chair against the bed, reading by the subdued glow of a portable lamp. Light danced with shadows on the walls as you attempted to sit upright.

Nope, your body wasn’t having it; aching palms and dehydration sent a wave of nausea, sending your upper body into the light sensation of freefall before your head bounced off the headboard. Fuck!

“Not that I shouldn’t have expected that from you, but…really?”

Splendid; if it wasn’t your grouchiest uncle, Satan.

“Here, drink. Slowly, there’s no need to rush.”

You drank and revived; taking some food he offered, you ate and soon you were yourself again. Wiping excess sweat using your blanket, you rested your back against the bedstead, the glaze dissipating from your vision.

“I was going to return your sweater today.”

“Oh, that,” he cracked a smile. “Don’t worry about it. You can wear it as long as you’d like. It’s not like it’s a book.”

“How long were you watching me sleep?”

He shook his head. “Do you remember what happened at all?”

“I’m trying not to.” Now you could afford to be mortified. While you’d never know what came over you last night, it was the first step you’ve made towards what you could believe was a… healing. Besides, a fit of madness was easier to stomach than a glimpse of death, no matter how embarrassing a memory it’d become.

“That’s surprising,” he closed his book so readily you wondered if he had read at all. “Your actions so far imply that you don’t shrink back from yourself.”

He got you there. “Not myself, just you demons.” A pause. “I can’t wait for Lucifer to kill me.”

“You shouldn’t say that, even as a joke.”

“Why not?” Pride and pain painted your face, your smile a ghastly grimace of laughter. “Everyone should get a turn. Especially with that damned demon coming after me every single time—”

“That ‘damned demon’ is currently getting reamed by Lucifer, though I’m sure my brothers are taking turns.”

Oh. “I always miss out on the good parts.”

“Is it really something you wish to see?”

“Well, I can’t. So why aren’t you reaming him out?”

“I went first.”

Sometimes you couldn’t tell if he was joking. “I hope it hurt.” You coughed.

“Did he threaten you?” He reached, giving your hand the most fleeting of touches in what was, for him, a surprisingly brazen display of concern. “I thought he left with Beel. We didn’t realize he was still around. What did he say to you?”

“He killed me,” No matter how many times you said it, it was going to be something you carried to your grave. Did any of them know this? “And it’s not like I can kill him back.”

But you did, or at least as much as you were able to. You allowed yourself a tight-lipped smile at that: a tiny victory to call your own, no matter how pyrrhic it was, knowing you were still the loser when the dust settled.

“I’m sorry. It seems like we keep failing you despite you always helping out with us brothers’ issues.”

His sanity continued to impress you. Or maybe your standards had fallen even lower. “Yeah, well, what can you do.”

A sudden smile stirred your curiosity. “I think you might want to hear me out then.”

It was just the two of you, but he still scanned the area before breathing his next words into your ear.

You bristled in response, your face a myriad of bafflement. Your assumption that Satan was sincerely trying to help, and the fact that your energy was still massively depleted, kept you from swearing, all past shame forgotten.

“Good, you’re listening. That’s the gist of the intervention, so you have to keep sharp.”

You set your jaw, pensive. There was now too much to think about, which kept your anger at bay. Whichever way you looked, you only found closed alleyways and locked doors. What did you have left to bargain with? You died, yes, but there was nothing that Lucifer—and each of his brothers—wouldn’t do to protect their family. What could you do except come to terms with the matter?

No, you wouldn’t give up. Everyone wanted you to ‘come back’—whatever the fuck _that_ meant anymore. It had to be a discomfort, an embarrassment at least if nothing else. It was in everyone else’s interests, and yours too, you admitted inwardly—that you reestablish yourself.

“I think…” The words came out hoarse. “…I need to come up with a better plan.”

“Good. And by the way, you didn’t hear any of this from me.”

“But why are you telling me this?” You supposed this _did_ make things difficult for Lucifer, which was this demon’s fetish. Though no amount of friendship would prompt you to ask him if he had sexually pleasured himself to the thought of Lucifer ever being—

“Because I want you to fight back.”

You stared at him, not sure what to say, let alone feel, to an answer like that. “Uh…”

“You helped me with my wrath. Now let me help you with yours without destroying yourself.”

Look at that. You found an open door.

_“You’re not Lilith. Now let’s have a dance battle to see who’s the greatest TSL voice actor and the winner gets a ride on the flying tea-flavoured cheeseburger to find the forbidden credit card. Loser has to give Asmo a prostate massage!”_

—and that was the last time you slept right after eating. Jesus fuck. You supposed it was a good thing your dreams were slowly reverting back to its nightly programming of nonsensical shitshows.

You always wanted to have a ‘crazy wall’ since your ninja spy detective phase. But since your room didn’t have consistent privacy, you had to content yourself with scribbling hypotheses and ideas in stretched-out flowchart-looking squiggles, motivated by Satan’s words long after he left.

When the image of your dead body glimmered over, you fought back with the fresher memories of the demon’s face and what you imagined doing to them. You pressed hard on the page when those gruesome visions reappeared, sucking in your breath as if you were burned, despising yourself for letting it sting deeply each time as if it were the first.

Quills were like lead pencils: both snapped too easily under the tension of your thumb. Ah well; this was enough planning for today. You stuffed them into a drawer before flinging yourself back into bed.

“You’re not sleeping well.” He set the tray on your desk.

Your mind was weighed with planning and sarcastic comebacks were not high on the list. “Cool.”

“Were you in the middle of something?”

“Yes.”

“Is the schoolwork weighing too heavy on you?”

No, just your stalker of a brother.

“I see.”

Shit, you didn’t mean to say that out loud—then you remembered you didn’t care. “Of course he wasted no time running to whine to you.”

Gloved fingers pressed against a weary forehead. “No. Belphegor’s reticence towards me is second only to Satan. In fact, he has so far refused to divulge anything except confessing his desire to make amends with you. I was hoping you could help fill in some of the blanks.”

“Really? Really??” Keep your cool. Remember the plan. “The crazy demon can’t understand a simple message to leave me the hell alone, wants to be best friends? Warm hug and blissful family reunion?”

You stopped yourself, suffering a prick of shame; even you realized just how silly you sounded, however justified. You shouldn’t give into it so easily like this; it was petty… and not very smart.

“Have you ever fought with your family?”

Oh, sure. Your brother still had that bald spot where you had yanked out a patch of hair which had resulted in an asswhooping seared into memory. That was… what, years ago? You were a little shit.

“Yeah, I don’t think I have anything that compares to this situation.”

“The magnitude may be different,” he conceded with a nod, “but I’m compelled to presume that the dynamics are consistent. There are few things more important than my family.” A piercing stare. “The same holds for you, correct?”

You scowled. “And how, _pray tell_ ,” there was your attempt for the day to sound as grandiose as him, “does bringing my family into this do anything? Unless…” Your voice trailed off.

Lucifer wouldn’t be where he was if he couldn't see where your mind was flying off to this time. “This issue doesn’t involve your people in the Human Realm in any way, nor should it ever. Did you fear for them?” In genuine surprise and disappointment. “That’s hardly fair to me, is it? Just how do you think my brothers would react to such a threat, after how they faced Belphegor yesterday?”

Your lips thinned to a line. Oh, the words you itched to say. But he had scored a telling point; he had never attacked your family. In fact, aside from the odd innocuous question, no one here pried into it, either because they didn’t care or they knew on an instinctive level that it wasn’t up for casual discussion.

“What happened yesterday? After what I did, I mean.”

“And what _did_ you do?”

The best reply: “I made rice.” You also wanted to confirm: “Why did you bring up my family, then?”

“You meddled in our family affairs almost immediately since arriving here. You were indiscreet, irritating, touching where it hurt most… and it saved my brothers. Is it so despicable that I should take a similar approach to save you?”

“I don’t _need_ to be saved.”

After everything you’ve experienced, watching a demon’s eyes glow like some hipster’s headlights was one of the less terrifying sights you’ve beheld. Still, it was unnerving, as if that gaze could pierce through your soul—which he could do.

“You are wounded and your soul is compensating for it. Your spirit is noteworthy, but consider the toll this is taking on your body and mind.”

You glared some more before slumping back, peering at your bandaged hands. Mammon couldn’t have done this; it was too perfectly wrapped, too soft against your skin. You wanted to scream that you didn’t care, that you’d burn everything around you until there was nothing but ash, yourself included. If you were even a handful of years younger, you would’ve.

But you weren’t.

Reality was the Devildom but in less than a year, you would be home. Your real home, where your friends were already preparing for the uncertain future that was the inheritance of your generation, one filled with hopes and dreams and them. You were more than your bitterness. You had to be if you were going to be more than what these demons fashioned of you, if you wanted your plan to work, and especially if you wanted to be happy again.

Scrunching your hands into fists—and then promptly uncurling them because **ow** —you instead reached for a tissue, blowing your nose as hard as you could.

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll try, I will.”

Lucifer crossed his arms, heaving a sigh. “It’ll have to do. Also, my brothers are straining their ears against the other side of the door. Would you like to see them?”

As if on cue, a dull thump shook the door followed by much cursing.

“They want to see me?” Even after your trainwreck of a performance?

“Why wouldn’t they?” You were staring at the door, so you didn’t know what emotion he held as he gazed at you. “After all that you’ve done for them?”

“Which brothers?”

“The ones who disciplined Belphegor the hardest.”

More than enough for you. “Yeah, I wanna see them.”

A smile hovered near his lips as he flicked his hand. The door swung open, dumping two bodies into your room.

“Ow! Lucifer, couldn’t you have opened it slowly? I had just shoved Mammon out of the way to get the perfect spot!”

“You admit that you and Mammon were eavesdropping?”

“Oh! Darling, you scared me yesterday!” Mammon threw an elbow at his ribs, which he nearly dodged. “Ouch!”

“Watch out for their hands, y’idiot!”

Asmo glared, but he did brush a careful finger over them before raising one to his lips. “You have such refined hands…I hope I did them justice.”

So that’s why the bandages were hot pink. Mammon tsked, giving your hair a careless ruffle. “You idiot human.”

Annoyance stirred, but not much; there was too much truth in what he said. A spasm twitched your lips into a lifeless imitation of a smile. Last night’s exertions were still weighing on you, watered down by conscience.

“All right! From now on, none of us are letting you out of our sight! Does that mean one of us gets to sleep with them, Lucifer?”

“Out of the question.” Lucifer folded his arms, chair scraping back. “The rest of the day is yours. Try to use it resourcefully and,” his gaze shifted, “take care of yourself.”

“He has _such_ a bittersweet heart,” His voice crooned. “Honestly, I don’t understand why he can’t be upfront with his feelings. Though he conducts himself so elegantly, which is why it can be forgiven,” he gave his other brother a look of contempt. “Unlike slime for brains here.”

“Hey! Show some proper respect for your older brother, ya brat!”

Were things this normal with their crazy brother? You liked to think that it wasn’t, their transitory spat a familiar rhythm of the Devildom. Their presence, compared with the thoughts that fermented inside you, seemed cheerful, even though, as usual, it was loud. Truth be told, after your bout of conflict and scheming, you didn’t care for their squabble.

What you did care very much for was to bask in their timeless frivolity that was the essence of their nature and your relationship, before it was all marred, and since there was nothing at hand for you to smack them with, you brought down one arm on each of them, saying, “Don’t be like that. I didn’t even eat yet.”

Somehow it pleased them both, enough to shelve their dispute to turn to you.

“This looks delicious, open up! Say ah~”

“I can feed myself.” You opened your mouth anyway, laughing to cover your embarrassment.

When he wasn’t griping about his brothers or being strung upside-down, Mammon was a remarkably demure demon. Now that nothing was distracting him, you noticed how shaken he was. Minimal complaining to Asmodeus about being too close to you aside, Mammon hovered in the background. From time to time he reached out to thrust a tentative hand across your head as if he was daring a forbidden luxury. When you laughed, you didn’t miss the recoil in his arm.

Filled with warm food and Asmo’s gentle banter, you were lax enough to call him out without your usual snark.

“Mammon.”

“Wh—what?”

“You can relax,” you gave Asmo a placating pat. “I’m too tired to do anything, anyway.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Not when I cleared my schedule for you! Just for today, mind you,” Asmo winked. “I have this extensive procedure planned out, starting with a pedicure. I have the loveliest assortment of polish that just came in yesterday. I have several colours in mind that’ll suit you.”

“I thought I lost you again,” the other interjected.

Ah, there it was. Like Mammon was a demon to suffer in silence. “Guess you’re still stuck with me.”

“Y-you bet I am! And man, if it weren’t for Beel stopping me, I’d have taken Belphie by the scruff of his neck and just—”

“You _did_ take him by the scruff of the neck, Mammon. Practically slammed him against the wall, too.”

Did it make you a demon that you laughed at that? Probably. Did it stop you? Nah.

“See? They’re laughing normally. Stop being on edge, stupid Mammon.”

Your breath stopped, laughter dying in your throat. Suddenly hyperaware, you pondered: how was your normal laugh different from your ‘mad’ laugh? How many kinds of laughs did you have? You glanced at Mammon, fidgeting with Goldie and mumbling half-hearted denials under his breath.

“It’s fine,” you muttered. “It’s not like I died again.”

“But last night—”

“—was a fun time,” you waved him off. “Let’s just leave it at that, all right?”

“No!” He gripped your shoulders. “The last time we ‘left’ it at that, we found you dying in the toilet! And before that, you were—” He didn’t finish, giving your head a knock. It wasn’t a hard one (you’ve had worse), but the spontaneity of the motion left you at a loss.

Said loss didn’t last long. “What the hell!”

“You can’t yell at us to understand and then not explain what yesterday was!”

Rubbing your head, you fumed. “Your brother.”

Asmo, finally able to retake the conversation upon Mammon’s silence, curiously inquiring. “What did he do?”

You hesitated before settling on bits and pieces of the truth. “Cornered me. Tried to talk, like he didn’t lie his way to kill me like a dog.” You smiled, more to yourself. “I wasn’t a pretty picture, was I?”

This time, you let Asmo sidle closer to you. “No…it wasn’t.”

“I’m not going to be bullied into talking to him. I won’t!” You ignored the throbbing of your palms as you buried them into the sheets, facing Mammon again. “That’s what happened.” You tried to hit him back.

“Can never tell what Belphie’s thinkin’. But this? Yeah, he’s not goin’ to do shit to you. I’ll make sure of that.”

Mammon wanted to help you. That was why you heard him out when he vaunted his abilities to protect you, that since he was your ‘first’, he should be the first demon you should—must call on next time, and he’d be there, truly he would. He must’ve been scared, you decided. To be fair, you scared you, too. When everything was over, how much of your humanity would you have left?

“Anyways, I’m normally a pretty busy demon, but I, The Great Mammon, happen to have nothing better to do except look after my human today! I hope you know how lucky you are!”

You gave another small (normal) laugh, not because you thought it very funny, but because laughter seemed the safest way to release the pent-up tensions of a night you were unlikely ever to forget.

Uneasy thoughts still stewed in your mind, but right now, you needed a diversion. Then a remnant of your old mischief sparked, granting you a crazy thought, a kind of crazy that was almost familiar. You explored the idea, boiling down to the important question: Life was short anyway so would you regret not doing it?

Demons weren’t the only ones capable of acting before reconsidering their life choices. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do. And I think,” you examined the two demons with an elusive gesture, “I want both of you with me.”

“Does it involve the prolific uses of my leftover aloe vera?”

“No, and I can’t even guarantee that this will be a better idea. But I want to try and only you two can help.”

Anticipation excited you; once the words were uttered there was no taking them back. Now that you had their attention, puzzlement, and eventually, their begrudging agreement, the three of you headed out.

“Darling, I don’t think you should be wearing _that_ … while those shorts compliment you beautifully, they’re quite baggy and with just the right amount of breeze, it might reveal your undergarments. Now, if that’s what you’re going for, then feel free to ignore what I just said.”

Aaaand you headed back inside.

“You come up with some of the craziest ideas, huh,” Mammon muttered.

“It’s a human thing.”

“No, I think it’s just you.” His cheek nuzzled yours; you smelled roses. “But that’s what makes you special.”

“But you’ll do this, right?” You tilted your head. “For me?”

Of course they would. You didn’t enforce your pact for this misadventure, nor did you have to. As soon as you emphasized _only you two could help,_ they were in. And you promised Asmo that you’d go to his room right after for the beauty stuff.

“This isn’t illegal, right?” You asked.

“It shouldn’t be! I’ve travelled further than this to go to the Forbidden Hot Springs!” He tossed his hair. “You have nothing to worry about. And if Lucifer gets mad, I’ll just work my charm on him!”

“That sounds so gross,” Mammon wrinkled his nose.

“Pfft, don’t be jealous~ you’re welcome to try it with me, though it’s obvious who’s superior.”

“The Devil I will!”

“Mm, poor choice of words considering what you are, idiot brother.” To you, “Ah-ah, stay away from those. That’s Snakeweed, traps and devours wisps.”

“Watch your step, you silly human. See, this is why I have to be around to protect you.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” you grumbled under your breath.

“Here we are!”

The ravine was steep enough for a fall to be lethal. Yet its overall elevation left much to be desired; the view from the RAD balcony was better than this. Still, you could still see the lights poking through the buildings, around the castle, beneath the star-studded sky.

Cold feet: you were getting them now. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Cliffs always gave you the jitters and you were sweating like a pig, right through your bandages. You took a step back, your heart thudding, screaming at you to reassess.

“You know, this is actually a fantastic idea! I’m surprised no one ever thought of it before!” Four pairs of wings unfurled; you swore the golden scorpion _moved_ into position, snaking around black roses. “And of course you would trust me above the others to pull off something like this!”

“And what am I, chopped liver?! I’m here, too!”

“Yes, yes, you’re here, too,” he groaned. “Well, darling, shall we?”

Ripping off the bandages, you took a glimpse at your palms. They were scored with pink where the splinters had been, but very little blood was shed. Stuffing the pink fabric into your pocket, you wiped your hands on your jacket.

“Scared?” He held your hand. “You look positively adorable, but don’t you admit that this is exciting as well?”

“Been a while since I stretched my wings. But come on!” He turned to you. “What’ve ya to be scared of! The Great Mammon’s gonna be beside you the whole time!”

You were terrified of heights. A very normal fear, certainly, but one that wasn’t overbearingly debilitating. You still rode roller coasters. You’ve done ziplining. Not skydiving. But all of those had safety measures you could place a degree of faith in. And these brothers were… the safest you could get. How reassuring!

“Ooh! Think of it like this! Remember from The Jailer of AdzukiBean where Harrison Porter rides the Griffinhorse for the first time?”

“Yeah, but I’m heavy,” you replied stupidly, your knees threatening to buckle.

“Pssh, you’re human! And no matter how much you eat, you can’t possibly weigh more than Beel.”

“You had to carry him? While flying?”

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“Now I _really_ want to know!” You pulled at one of his belts. “It sounds like a hilarious story!”

“No way! Not in a million years! Point is,” he cleared his throat, “how heavy can you be? You’re not even all that fat-looking. Even Asmo here should be able to lift something like you!”

“Gee, thanks. Thanks so much. You know I can just make you tell me by the pact, right?”

Asmo grinned. “These hands are only meant to hold beautiful things. You’ll be fine, my dear, in my very capable hands.”

You looked past the gorge again, your heartbeat pummeling against your chest. This was fear, too. You told yourself it was the better kind of fear, one that could throw your being into upheaval with a more primitive, encompassing fear and overwrite the junk in your system.

Besides, you had already come this far—by your choice, drawn from human agency. You took several steps backwards, forced your feelings back… and broke into a dash, right off the cliff.

Your brain derailed off every semblance of solid thought; your body felt queer as you had left your stomach back on the grass. You were mute, wind stinging your eyes long before your feet collided against nothing but thin air as you flailed.

“Are you out of your _mind?!_ Who _does_ that?!”

_“You idiot human!”_

Both of your arms were jerked upwards, your descent slowing to a stop before you shot up in the air like a stray popcorn. You didn’t hear the beating of their wings until Asmo slapped one (probably on purpose) across your arm.

“You naughty little thing!” he exclaimed, taking your left elbow. “You’d think you’d have warned us before doing that!”

You took lungful after lungful of air, gathering your scattered wits as adrenaline continued to pump through you. You were on air that sieved and swirled around you, picked up by strands of light that spun in slow shimmering circles, each a miniature star.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Asmo gave one wisp a playful poke. “Don’t worry, they’re only spirits sworn into my service for eternity, drawn from my power. They’ll never hurt you! Oh, ignore the pee-coloured ones—those are Mammon’s.”

“They’re _not_ pee, they’re gold!” Toward you, with annoyance slightly diminished, “Don’t _do_ that! You said you were going to have us _help_ you fly, not fucking swan-dive right off it! You humans are off your rockers to do that, more for you since you don’t have an ounce of magic!”

“But you guys were going to catch me anyway, right?”

You were flying. Wind flowed beneath you without any givings of letting you go. Or it was these spirit-things keeping you buoyant as you dabbed at your watering eyes. Your brain was still in a tizzy: you were flying! You could see everything before you, below you without a single harness! Holy shit _holy shit!_

“Of course I was gonna catch ya, but you seriously need to tone down the stupidity!”

“Well, come on. You said you wanted to see the entirety of Devildom, didn’t you?” Manicured hands beckoned and you began to move. “Drink up the scenery, darling. The view from the academy doesn’t even _begin_ to compare, does it? Almost as beautiful as me, I daresay.”

You still clung to their hands since there was nothing else tangible to hold on to. But even that was a fear you steadily abandoned, soaring through the midnight-blue sky that was spangled with stars. The air, cool and crisp, nipped at your cheeks and filled your body with an exultant wheeze.

“You are SO cute!”

“Slow down before you smash into a bat!”

The biggest castle stood as the crowning jewel, swathed in light that put the castles of Gisnepland to shame. Among the surrounding clusters of homes and shops, multicoloured will-o’-wisps illuminated the streets, evoking the memory of a night market, or perhaps a festival. Beyond Diavolo’s castle lay the borders of its civilization, marked by the Umbrian Mountains that were outstretched to the glittering brilliance above.

“Feelin’ better now?”

You caught your breath, and then you laughed, a laugh borne of adrenaline and a child’s giddiness that filled you with exhilaration.

“This is amazing!” You smiled at Mammon, who was struck by the sudden beauty that touched your face. “You guys are amazing!”

For the first time, you felt a vague regret that you didn’t bring your D.D.D. to at least take a picture. That thought was gone almost as soon as it had come; if your phone camera couldn’t properly capture the beauty of a moon, what chance was there for something like this?

“What are those?”

“Mm? Oh, that’s just the fae. Annoying little imps. Are you wearing any silver? No? Let’s just head over here, then.”

From up here, the Devildom was nothing short of beautiful; the word didn’t seem to do it justice. For a sunless kingdom literally damned by heaven, your awe had yet to wear off as you thought this would be a day you’d never forget. It was so peaceful…

“Mammon, what did you do?!”

“Shit, I thought they were vampire bats! They’re supposed to be friendly!”

“What’re you—Mammon, you scumbag idiot! Those are—” You heard the beating of hundreds of wings and the growing clamour of inhuman shrieks. “All right, we’re going to take a small detour. Are you ready?”

“For what?”

Everything blurred into a haze of tears; you knew they had been taking it slow and easy during your flight, but you didn’t realize how fast they could truly go until the whistling of wind was all you could hear as you felt your body take off as if a missile launcher set you off. You wanted to tell him that you thought you left several of your internal organs behind.

“Yeah! Looks like we lost ‘em!”

While Asmo chewed him out, you waited for your head to stop spinning. Surveying the area, you didn’t see anything that could pass for an equivalent of an amusement park in the Devildom; but then, what need did they have for that when they could pull off crazy stunts like this? You had never counted yourself as an adrenaline junkie but now you were craving for more. With a breathless laugh, you could only marvel at your present, the past and future not even coming to mind.

“Let’s do that again!” You clapped your hands, a sound of childlike elation drawing both of their attention to you. Nothing in the human world would give you an experience remotely close to this one, so why not?

“You’re not…going all loopy again, are ya?”

Possibly. “This is the kind of crazy people back home _pay_ to get. Oh, come on! Let’s!”

Asmo laughed. “There’s no way I can say no to a face like that.”

“Hey, I’m not saying we _can’t_ , but…hey! Why don’t you guys ever listen to me?”

Your next burst of laughter was lost to the wind as the lights distorted into indistinguishable specks. You couldn’t tell which brother came up with it, but your flight was now interspersed with freefall, then being scooped up by the brothers’ power before the drop grew too steep. Dimly, you heard them laughing, too, and tried to laugh back as if you had the air.

“Well, whaddaya think?” He did a little spin. “Not too shabby?”

You grinned, shook your head. You’d have hugged him if his very sharp looking wings weren’t continuing to flap behind him. You wanted to ask how it was that not all of them had wings; you were certain this was an ability you’d never have given up even after banishment. Then again, probably not wise to ask. Instead, you asked to fly higher.

“I want to see the stars better.”

“Hey, Mammon, what’s your favourite star?”

“Wha? Uh… none? It’s not like you can sell ‘em.”

“Ah-ah, wrong answer! Your favourite star is _Morningstar!_ You’re his favourite, remember?”

“Ew, don’t say that! Disgusting!”

How long the three of you soaked in the skyline and the majesty of the realm, you weren’t sure. Roughly it must’ve been some hours because, by the time your feet touched solid ground again, you were woozy.

“Remind me why we can’t fly back directly into our dorms?”

“Because there’s a promotion happening in Majolish! Didn’t you see it? We flew over it several times!”

With your own cup of happiness overflowing, you were more than inclined to indulge his whims. “All right, let’s go.”

“Really? But this doesn’t mean we’re skipping next week—” You grabbed his arm, easy laughter coming to your lips.

“Hurry up. That’s why we stopped here, right in the plaza, didn’t we?”

He was beaming from ear to ear, sweeping clothes off the rack, peering over jewels like a magpie. Though you’d never be as avid as him, you had a penchant for pretty things, too, and soon you were herded to the change room, laden with piles of fabric.

“Give me a shout when you’re done changing so we can reveal our outfits at the same time ❤”

“How’re you doing that with your mouth? The… heart thing. How d’you even say that?”

“You have to flick the tongue in a circular motion and put all of your affection into it. Like this: ❤ See? ❤ ❤ ❤”

“Like dith? Დ”

“I don’t… what _even_ is that? That sounds so weird. Hey, you try! You’ve got to be better than stupid Mammon here. See my lip movement? Like this—”

Resisting the urge to laugh, you assured yourself you had done sillier things. “Like this? ❥”

“Ohh! That was very close!” He clapped his hands. “Now roll your tongue a bit more to the left, and you get ❤”

“I don’t—howzzat—what?!” Mammon looked ready to tear his hair out. “What _is_ this? ლ? ❣? ෆ??”

“Keep working on that, you dimwit. We’re going to go change.”

You thought this was going to be fun? Well, it sorta was, but there was so much to try, take off, put back on (“I think this will suit you with these cuffs when you head out for a romantic evening!”), button up, extracting tangled jewellery without breaking the clasp, and, oh, oh! So many clasps! This was what the Devildom consisted of: eternal damnation and clasps.

“Oh, honey! This is the most ravishing you’ve ever looked so far! I could just eat you up!”

“… yeah, let’s not do that here.”

“Meaning we could do it elsewhere?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Nope, no! No ravishing, here or anywhere! Asmo, we’ve been here for hours! Hurry yo’ ass up!”

He snorted. “Right, like you haven’t been piling things into your basket. Just so you know, if we get banned from here because of you, I’m gonna tell Lucifer!” Sweetening his voice to syrup, he promised that this would be the last one (the seventh last one, if anyone was counting) before wrapping up.

“…” You stared, wondering if the mirror had some enchantment placed on it. Your hair was windblown, your face windburnt. But those details were trivial as you beheld your reflection. You knew clothes could make or break a person, but the human staring back at you seemed like an entirely different person, adorned and decorated with a glamour you never thought to pull off.

“I always save the best outfit for last. How do they look, Mammon? Give us a twirl!”

“They’re all right,” he muttered, quickly looking away.

You touched the collar, feeling something like pride wash over you before you faced reality. “I’m sold.”

“Great! Shall we ring it up?”

You chuckled, adjusting a frill. “I said I was sold, not my wallet. I think I can afford the shirt, though.”

Asmo said he couldn’t reject you, but in turn, you had a very difficult time giving an implacable ‘no’ when he insisted he buy the entire set for you. The salesclerk patiently waited while the two of you protested, Mammon occasionally wrangling himself in to get in a freebie for various items.

“You really shouldn’t have.” You murmured.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Asmo blew a stray bang out of his face, carrying even more bags. “That attire is perfect for almost any formal occasion, how could you _not_ want it?”

“I _did_ but my allowance isn’t nearly enough to pay you back—”

He waved his hand. “It’s my treat.”

“Why can’t you be this generous with your own brother?!”

“Because I only need to look at Levi to know you’d _never_ pay me back ಠ ∩ಠ”

“And how the fuck did you say _that?”_

He shook his head, getting the annoying bang back over his eye. “Do I have to teach you everything? You’re really a pathetic excuse of an older brother.”

“Aw, shit!”

“Mammon?”

“One of the witches is summoning me,” he grouched. “Do they really need to drag me up every single time?”

“Not to be mean—wait, yes, I totally am—but didn’t you dig that hole yourself?” Asmo snickered. “Run along now, go see your witches.”

You turned away, but that didn’t stop the glow of the summoning circle from searing your eyelids. The light dissipated as quickly as it had come, taking Mammon with it.

“Satan’s making goose burgers today.” Asmo hummed a little tune, slowing his pace for you to catch up. “Say…”

“What?”

“Are you… ever going to eat with us again?”

You stared at the path, paved with the same smooth stones as you continued to walk. The very thought of sitting with that demon was difficult to consider dispassionately. But you trusted Asmo, knew this had been prompted by legitimate concern and not mere morbid curiosity.

“I didn’t think it mattered all that much.”

“Darling, you give yourself too little credit. Even Mammon, fumbling money-grubbing sellout he is, never stops his pacing and ranting when you’re not around. Would it make you feel better if Lucifer strung Belphegor upside-down for a millennia? We did something very similar to that last night, you see, but there’s always someone who gets in the way.”

“Maybe.”

“Ooh! I’ll tell Lucifer that. I have some chains we can use, and while we’re on it, I also have a special coil of whips that I’ve been wanting to use…ooh! ❤” he shivered.

Wait, what the f— “Absolutely not.”

“Hmph. But you were thinking about it for a second, weren’t you?”

“I wish I didn’t. Hurry up, let’s go back.”

“You’re very coy, you almost made me forget that you still didn’t answer my question.”

Persistent demon. “Do you think he’s been punished enough?”

He clicked his tongue. “Lust thrives off punishment. But otherwise…” His smile faltered, unusually grave, before breaking into passion. “Oh, I hate this! I hate Belphie for doing this to you, but he’s still my brother! It shouldn’t be this complicated!”

The outburst was so unlike him, so forlorn, that your resistance melted. “I’ll think about it. But only because you’re so dear to me.”

“Still got that honey-tongue, I see,” he gave a weak laugh. He was, however, in a much better mood by the time both of you entered the Hall of Lamentation.

As if you needed an additional wake-up call from the day that had felt like a dream: the twins were lounging in the common room, looking up simultaneously as you entered.

“Where have you guys been?” Beel’s hands had stopped halfway from opening his tenth box of Wicked Cupcakes.

“A date,” his eyes twinkled.

“Oh… I see. Was it fun?”

“Of course it was! I was there.”

“Was it?” You felt his eyes on you, compelling an answer. You gave a curt nod, deliberately avoiding eye contact as you followed Asmo out the commons.

“Are you all right?” he whispered when out of earshot.

“At least he’s not trying to talk to me,” you shrugged. “Look, my fingers are numb. Let’s put down the bags first?”

“Oh, right! Come this way!”

“…? That’s not my room.”

“Who said we’re going to _your_ room? Have you forgotten the pedicure? Actually, let’s use the foot massager, too. My feet are killing me!”

Giving a wry smirk, you followed him without looking back. You weren’t sure whose eyes you'd meet and you didn’t want to know.


	9. Rather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coping mechanisms and unhealthy habits may have helped you deal with shitty times of rage and grief, but you weren't a child anymore.  
> It was time to get help and work on yourself. Unfortunately, you didn't have an instant fix-all cure that would've saved you a great deal of time. You were going to work through it, which didn't always mean all of the steps you took would be in the right direction. It was the unique birthright and yoke of humanity to hurt as they learned, to stumble as they ran, and to draw the most blood before healing.
> 
> CREDIT TO FOREVERALONE5 FOR BETA-READING & SUPPLYING IDEAS :D THANK YOU AGAIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You’re putting too much force behind your teeth, sweetheart. You need to ease up a little.”
> 
> You grunted. “I’m trying, Asmo.”
> 
> “And it’s a pretty picture, seeing you sweat. But if you stress any further it’ll undo everything we’ve done so far. Don’t fret. You’re doing a marvellous job following my instructions so far. Come on.” Coaxing fingers tilted your chin up. “Come on, one more time, for me!”
> 
> “I’m tired,” you whined. “I don’t know how you do it, but I give up.”
> 
> “Just one more! See what I’m doing with my tongue? Wave it like you’re licking something delicious, only at the last second!”  
> Fine. You rolled your tongue. “🎔!”
> 
> “Yes, yes! And you even managed to add your own flair!” He licked his lips. “❤, ❤… I can’t seem to replicate it. Can you do it again? I need to see your lips clearly for this.”
> 
> “My mouth hurts.”
> 
> “Oh? Should I kiss it better? Hmm, though I can’t promise it’ll end with just a kiss.”
> 
> You slapped his free hand. “Enough chitchat. Now stay still or else I’m never going to finish coating your nails.”

_What did you want Belphie to do?_

See, if you could give a feasible answer to that (and feasible meant _not_ punting him off the Coast of Wailing Souls conveniently located north of Diavolo’s Castle), you wouldn’t be holed up in your room staring at your shiny new clothes as you ate your burger after having kicked everyone else out.

You didn’t like arguing with Asmo but you didn’t trust yourself to give the ‘right’ answer when he asked you that, so here you were. Beel didn’t even have to vocalize it; his very eyes gave him away, eyes that peered, pleaded, pried for answers as he gave you a half-eaten tray.

“Sorry, the food looked so delicious on the way, I couldn’t help myself…”

He was looking livelier. You didn’t ask him to stay; he was already antsy.

“I have to go. I promised Belphie—we promised to watch a movie together.”

You waved him off. “Go ahead.”

“You won’t—you wouldn’t want to join us, would you?”

You gave him a conflicted look. “Do you _really_ want that? After everything that’s happened?”

“I know,” he fidgeted with his necklace. “I know it’s not fair. But I still want—Belphie’s sorry. He really is. And I’m sorry I didn’t stop him yesterday.”

A strange expression crossed your face, both wistful and bitter. Perhaps your recent escapade had dulled your storm. “Do you know how he ‘apologized’ to me?”

“He did?” Surprise, then waxing optimism. “He said he tried. So he did? Then…”

“Did you make him do it?”

“What…? No, but…” he struggled to articulate. “He wanted to know what he should do. I told him to be calm and honest so he wouldn’t scare you again. We practiced, too, and I made sure he kept his voice quiet and low.”

“Volume isn’t going to change the utter lack of sincerity.” But it had still felt good to retaliate because it made your rage pure, righteous. Guilt-tripping you into capitulation would only add more unclouded fuel. “The apology was half-assed and an insult and I…”

You trailed, off, unwillingly remembered the less pleasant segments that cluttered your fury. Reflexively, you took a step back from Beel. Would he strangle you, too, if he knew?

“I don’t understand. What did he say?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” you snapped, defensive.

“He wouldn’t talk to me,” he scratched his head. “He stayed in bed all day, wouldn’t even come out to eat. I thought he was sleeping but when I turned him over, he was…” he clamped his mouth, as if aware he was betraying a confidence.

“Are you all right, Beel?” What a stupid question.

“If he hurts, I hurt. But I don’t know if this is my own or his… but it’s stronger. He must’ve been dreaming about Lilith again, and about you.” A breath, long and weary. “I think he’s hurting more than me.”

This conversation was helping no one. “Go watch your movie. I’ll be alright.”

“No… no, you won’t be. But there’s nothing I can do about it.” He suddenly slammed a fist against the wall. “Damn it,” he said fiercely, “even now, I can’t do anything to help those I care for!”

You said nothing. What, after all, could you say to that?

“I know it’s… you’ll hate me for asking, but about Belphie, if he—”

You didn't want to hear the rest of that. Interrupting hastily, you lowered his arm from further wall assaults. “Don’t. I wish to be left alone.”

Swallowing the rest of his words, he made no further attempts to resist as you motioned for him to go, firmly closing the door behind him while quelling your own urge to hit something.

Listen, for God’s sake! You loathed to admit it, but the damned demon—he could go fuck himself for all you cared. But he was tied to his brothers, whom you were less impartial to. Willing your pulse back to its normal rate, you reached for your D.D.D., scrolling through the texts with those you didn’t want to run over with a car. You weren’t wrong for being angry. So why was everyone making the sad faces like you did something wrong? Why were _you_ feeling like you did something wrong?

Aggressively chewing your burger meant accidentally biting your tongue and scraping your teeth against each other. You couldn’t even swear as you shrivelled in bed with watery eyes and indescribable pain. When it finally subsided, you reached for your pepper fries that… weren’t there.

Down you went to the kitchen, snooping around like the fry-scavenger you were.

“Mammon still up there with his witches?”

“Probably,” Oh, it was just Levi. “Are there any fries left?”

“No, Beel ate it all. I didn’t finish mine, so, uh, you can take some here if you want.”

“Great, thanks, see ya,” you ducked away with your spoils before anyone could guilt you into doing anything else.

Despite your room being the most reasonable choice for refuge, you took your time going back. Your bedroom was quieter now, less foot traffic, and nowadays housed little more than sighs and loneliness. You were getting better, you thought sometimes, but at the end of each day, it was just you and your futile rage, nighttime only beginning the Russian Roulette of upchucking and night terrors.

Your stomach rumbled as you chomped on some fries. You had vomited enough for your lifetime and Satan had made today’s dinner, a dinner you happened to enjoy, and one you intended to keep it down where it was.

Because you still didn’t trust yourself and you had left your pen on your desk, you snatched your weapon of the day from the kitchen countertop without a second look. You’d figure out how to use it when the time came.

You crept towards the commons, immediately making a 180° when you heard familiar chatter. Every room you had been to in the Hall of Lamentation had at least a dozen memories tied to them that you didn’t want to dwell on. The mausoleum, the library, _Lilith’s_ room… you wandered, wondering if this time you’d find another secret room to find _another_ secret brother trapped away and how this time, you would troll the fuck outta them before walking away like you should’ve done.

Water lapped against stone; a repetitive, soothing sound that beckoned. Who kept a running fountain in a planetarium of all places? Demons would. You peeked inside, hearing only water and seeing a velvety sofa that was practically begging to be used. And with all your fries eaten and no one else around… why not?

Once you closed the door behind you, the only lights came down from the heaven—sky, you corrected idly—above. The silence wasn’t a disheartening one as you gazed upwards at the constellations projected above, the outlining panels alternating between the sun and phases of the moon. Dangling from the ceiling were planetary lamps that glowed without detracting the starlight.

Extinguishing the candelabras, it was now the stars, the fountain, and you. Flumping onto the sofa, you breathed it all in until your neck started to stiffen. Pushing a cushion behind your head, you gradually reclined backwards, slowly relaxing as you released your hand to shove your weapon underneath.

Man, Solomon had some eclectic music tastes. One of your first impressions of him was that he’d rub his hands in a darkened room evilly muttering “pacts” while listening to ominous classical pieces all day. You had never heard of the low-fidelity genre, but settling back with the harmonic distortions and the running fountain water, your rage seemed to wash away, too. You could even study to this.

Stars were always pretty to look at and you had no bad memory associated with them. Rather, you faced the sky, trying to blink as little as possible to see them better, the sky you had reached for with wings of rose and gold. Mammon’s laugh, rough and proud, curled inwards like a warm embrace, threaded with Asmo’s playful touches.

You released your breath with an audible escape of tension, losing yourself to the soft pulses of music and the infinite cosmos.

Hugging a cushion to your chest, the luminous abyss stretched endlessly. You forgot your hands were still sore from all the splinters. The weightless feeling as you took the skies, soaring above the realm like a great bird, laughing among stars that laughed with you… you felt the tug of memory, coaxing your mind to wander in the echoes of passed euphoria that you had made your own.

The sky was a sea of black, dotted with light. What was that book, the book that Satan had lent you? _The children of starlight shall laugh with you because you are my friend and I will live amongst them. When your sorrow is comforted, you will be happy that you knew me, for each star will become a reason to smile…_

You laughed, a sound free of bitterness.

It was a book made by some Frenchman, you vaguely recalled. Only an idiot would believe that stars could laugh and hear them laugh like demons excited about cake and knowledge and goldfishes…stars, too, that constellated the dome in poignant patterns. The Dipper, the Belt, the North Star, the Morning Star that was actually a planet, and so on.

There were no shooting stars, but you knew without having to consider at all what your own wish would have been if you had seen one, for a night of untroubled sleep, a night free of dreams.

The moonlit splendour shone and swam in your vision. Your eyes and their annoying habit of watering when you were lying down. It must’ve been from the pressure on your tear ducts.

You were too lazy, or perhaps too eager to bask in this rare tranquillity to risk losing it sooner than you had to. Deep, contented fatigue crept on you with the subtlety of a thunderclap. Let it come, you thought, as you nestled against silk and nostalgia.

When you did fall asleep, it was the deep dreamless sleep borne of utter exhaustion. And then you stirred, groggily opening your eyes as you pulled out a blasting earphone. This thing had God-tier battery life. Pulling up the covers around your shoulders, you exhaled as you gave your torso a sharp bend, popping your joints. Candlelight burned, the wicks reduced to mere stumps.

This was a nice place to sleep and stargaze, you smiled to yourself. Then you froze, your brain kicking into action.

Hold the fuck up.

With a caustic oath, you threw off the knitted blanket, scanning the well-lit planetarium before pinpointing the element splayed over the armchair farthest across from you, dozing off on his own pillow with half-open, unseeing eyes.

Well then.

Time was ticking. The door was within two seconds’ sprint, and if you screamed loud enough, at least one of the brothers would come running to beat the shit out of this twat. Now _that_ was a spectacle worth seeing if you didn’t have your own tune to dance to, if your equilibrium hadn’t resolved an option beyond fight-or-flight.

When he yawned himself back to a somewhat conscious state, you were still seated across, no bothering to conceal the appraising and unsmiling expression on your face.

“Oh, you’re up.”

And the first thing I had to see was your uglyass mug, you fumed. Outwardly: “Why’re you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To nap. I usually come here, but… didn’t think you of all people would be here.”

To be fair, how the hell were you supposed to know this was the demon’s favourite hideout? It wasn’t like anyone _told_ you.

“Do you come here a lot?”

“What’s it to you?” Your rancour was no less implacable for now being glazed in ice. “Don’t try to talk nice, demon.”

Hurt flashed across his face before snatching back composure. “And yet, I can’t help but notice you’re staying. Does that mean you’re finally ready to talk?”

Your mouth uttered a crackling sound, lashed and leashed. You had enjoyed the last ‘conversation’, in a depraved way. All right, if he wanted a replay, you’d bite. What drivel would he spout now? _“Talk.”_

He sucked in air through his nose, his face never breaking away from you. Remembering the last abuse you had flung at him, you bit your lip, fixing your eyes past him.

“I know,” he started, “that nothing I say will make this better.”

“You’re right,” finally he said something sensible. “There isn’t. And stay the fuck where you are, demon. I can hear you just fine over here.”

He sat back as if you had forced him with a pact. How stupid.

“Look, I just… I want to try, okay?”

Stemming the overwhelming compulsion to fling the—what was it you had taken from the kitchen?—soup ladle from under your pillow, you leaned against your hand, propped your elbow against the armrest. “I don’t know why you keep trying to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This,” you gave a half-smirk. “I mean, if it’s just to convince your brothers, well done. But see, for me… I happen to hate you. A lot.” Why was it suddenly difficult to get the words out? Nerves, you told yourself. “And just because you loved Lilith _doesn’t mean you deserve my forgiveness.”_

_But doesn’t your mind deserve peace?_

He winced. You shouldn’t have felt anything but contempt towards him. “Huh… wow. You really speak what’s on your mind.”

“No other part of me has anything as good to say,” You jammed a cushion behind your neck. “Well, let’s hear it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You just said nothing I say would—”

“Of course it won’t. But what is the demon going to try this time to guilt me?” You flicked off some lint. “I can’t wait.”

He glanced upwards, the moonlight mitigating the harsh lines of his face into the forlorn uncertainty of a child. You didn’t want to see that, didn’t want to remember he was someone you felt sorry for in your previous life.

“I…” Each word came out of him with a piece of his obscene self-possession. “I want to apologize.”

“But your last one was so amazing.”

“You wouldn’t let me talk.”

“You blamed me for being angry that I died! You literally cornered me into ‘talking’, what the hell did you expect?”

He closed his eyes. You saw his fingers tighten around his pillow like warm flesh and you recoiled in disgust. “This time I’m not.”

So even demons could learn. The dejected slump in his shoulders and tendons protruding from his hands seemed genuine and you weren’t inhuman to let that go over you completely. But this could still be fabricated, an intricate lie waiting for you to fall prey again. You stared at the stars, silent as you tried.

“What should I do to make it up to you?”

You stretched, a new light setting in your eyes. “You really want to know?”

You didn’t consider yourself introspective any more than the average person, but now you had little to do but think. The loudest voice in your mind had subsided somewhat, dulled by time, but it still flared up like a burn, screaming _I will hate him! I will hate him forever!_ Painstakingly and reluctantly, you thought back over your relationship with this demon, picking apart every interaction to find some kind of comprehension.

“Lilith looked up at the stars from the human world. Whenever I’m here, I almost feel like Lilith is right here by my side, you know?”

Before you could stop yourself, your mouth directly took the thoughts forming in your mind sans filter: “You’d see her in a tuna sandwich.” _You and everyone else._

“She was my sister.” He said it so softly you almost missed it. Looking at the lines that deepened on his face, you decided against making the obvious retort, to remind him that ‘she’ was no longer a living being and that it didn’t excuse him one whit. Regardless of your grudge, you didn’t doubt he cared for his Lilith, however fucked-up he was outside it.

“I’m sorry,” he said after suspiciously burying his face into his pillow, “I… really am.”

If only you knew what exactly he was sorry for. Was it because he was the youngest? He looked defenceless, defiant, and desperate at the same time as he awaited your verdict. For a moment, time fragmented, the intervening disasters seemed to disappear as if they had never been, and you were seeing again the hopeless boy who had spurred curiosity and sympathy on that long-ago evening that had led you to make a series of questionable decisions that, in the end, you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret.

And then the eerie illusion shattered and you faced a demon who watched you with an incalculable look. A corpse with your face gnawed at the image of him and you were careful to not let your face betray anything other than what you wanted him to see.

“I almost wish I could believe you.” You drummed your fingers. “But you said a lot of pretty words that amounted to worse than shit. How is this different?”

Because if he meant them, he’d prove it. Pity was the coward’s way to redemption and you were markedly short in supply.

“All right, so what do you want me to do?” He asked as if he knew the answer. Like he’d actually do it. Your lip curled.

“Make a pact.”

He grunted. “I thought as much. Then you’re going to go after Lucifer, too?”

You struck out your arm in a slashing gesture. “Not me.”

“…?”

“Make a pact with Solomon.”

You stretched your arms as you shoved another pillow against your back, basking in his stunned silence. “What? Not exciting enough for you?”

He found his voice faster than expected. “Why would I make a pact with someone like _him?”_

“Asmo did.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“No,” you gave him a long look, one that provoked sudden discomfort. “You’re nothing like him, demon.”

“So why him, of all humans?”

“You shouldn’t,” you agreed. “He’s weird.”

He blinked. “What’re you getting at, then?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the one who asked what I wanted. As if I, a frail human, can make you do _anything._ Things would be different if I could, wouldn’t it?”

He hung his head.

“Point is,” you continued, the glory of a plan finally coming to fruition spiking your endorphin levels, “you royally screwed me over with that murder stunt. This doesn’t even come close but,” you gave an acrid smirk, “I think it’s a start. Unlike you, I’m being upfront about it.”

The next bout of quiet wasn’t so bad; you even took the luxury to smile: a sharp, elastic coil that a barbarian might envy. You couldn’t look outside to get a rough grasp of the time, but you were ready to get outta here. You glanced at the door, your watchless wrist, and cracked your ankles in preparation to leave.

“I’ll do it.”

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, expression consistently unimpressed otherwise. “That quick? You’re not going to haggle and harp on me about it?” A corner of your mouth twitched. “Suuure.”

“Just one thing. If I do—this—” he said ‘this’ like someone was pulling teeth, “you’ll forgive me?”

“I never said that!” Your stinging amusement vanished as if it had never been. “Don’t delude yourself. This isn’t a trade, got it?” Couldn’t he tell you were partially fucking with him? “As if any trade could make up for what you did. Think about it, demon,” you ran your tongue over your teeth before resuming, “or don’t. You haven’t made much of an impression on me, to begin with.”

His eyes narrowed, and a glow more fire than light sparked in them. What, did he think he was special? How many irate demons had you withstood before him? He wouldn’t be the last, either.

“You’re almost as bad as Lucifer.”

You, a rival of Pride incarnate? You simply focused a sober-eyes gaze, your smile fading away. “Well,” you said, sounding at once mocking, proud, and very, very weary, “I’ve had some good teachers.”

His alarm was almost comical. Leaving him to deal with that, you walked away.

You didn’t hear any activity; everyone else was probably sleeping. What to do… take a walk? You wouldn’t make two steps before one of the brothers caught up. Go back to your room? Why, did you forget what it looked like? Then… ah! You pattered to your room, grabbing for your D.D.D.; someday you’d go through the piles of unread messages, but not today.

Sending the necessary messages, you grabbed your wallet, stuffing it into your jacket. Impatiently you washed your face and teeth, giving your hair a cursory swipe before striding out with your bag.

“And where do you think you’re going?” His voice stopped you in your tracks; you didn’t even manage to step outside the main doors.

“Out.”

“Need I remind you that you cannot go outside by yourself? Even within campus grounds, I specifically ordered that one of my brothers act as your escort in case unscrupulous demons decide to make a meal out of your soul.”

“I’m going out for some air, eldest uncle. I’ll try not to volunteer myself as a sacrifice.”

It was like watching two caterpillars straining to kiss each other. Why haven’t you seen any demons with unibrows? Why were humans the only ones stuck with bodily anomalies while creatures above and below enjoyed flawless beauty?

“Is going out at this current moment truly necessary? Didn’t you go out the day before?”

Super; the uncle was transforming into a corporeal headache. “I’m not going out alone. A friend is coming to ‘escort’ me. Happy?”

“Who is it?”

“Not demons who bother me about going out when their brother is up there partying with the witches.”

“…is that where Mammon had gone to? He had told me he was doing cram with Mephistopheles.”

“I’m surprised you fell for such a blatant lie,” you snickered. “Oh, there he is. And Luke!”

You caught him in your arms, his hug bringing out the kind of laugh that made your entire heart sing. Beside him, a composed Solomon smiled as he and Lucifer exchanged pleasantries. Ah, politeness: the pretty package boxing more deceit. And the packaging _was_ pleasing to the eye.

“Are you all right?” Luke whispered, face marred with concern. “I couldn’t get Solomon to come here fast enough. Did they try to attack you again? Or eat you?”

“You needn’t be so overprotective,” came the dry, unwanted reply. “And if you must whisper, do it properly. Or is the chihuahua only capable of barking aloud?”

“Wha—! I don’t bark! How dare you demean an angel’s voice!”

“Don’t listen to him,” you gave Lucifer a gestural rebuke. “He’s not a morning demon.”

“Demons,” Luke repeated with disdain, muttering under his breath as he clung to you. “But never mind that!”

“Well, we shall be going now,” Solomon put on a radiant smile, ushering his two charges towards the gates. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the day as much as we will, Lucifer.”

“Wait. I wish to speak to them before you go.”

You dragged your feet as you walked up to him. Knowing Solomon and Luke were standing by with watchful gazes kept you grounded as you felt Lucifer’s scrutiny.

“What, are you going to tell me I’m grounded?” You challenged with a burst of defiant scorn.

“Be careful what you say,” he said softly. “I cannot restrict your social life unless you give me a reason to.”

“So what do you want to tell me?”

“Enjoy your time with them, but I must tell you: Solomon is a devious trickster and that… chihuahua can be unreliable. Watch yourself.”

“Leave Luke alone,” you drew to his defence. “As for Solomon…heh heh… he’s just like you, so I don’t see how worse it can get.”

“What do you mean ‘just like me’?”

“Think about it. Don’t expect me to come back anytime soon.”

“I’m not—”

Who cared?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this chapter is short ._.  
> Will try to make it up later  
> Zzz  
> The French book about laughing stars refers to _The Little Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry  
> I also parodied a bunch of other media but hopefully those were easy enough to tell lol


	10. Ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you still not going to tell me what happened the last time?”
> 
> “I’m going back to my room.”
> 
> “Belphegor. Look at me.”
> 
> “You said you’d leave it be. Lucifer, this isn’t—I know Lilith, she—I won’t hurt them anymore. You know I won’t.”
> 
> “You’re not giving them time. Even this talk was rushed, too hasty. With a little more time, they would be amenable to reconciliation. Remember the time Beel took to overcome his guilt for not knowing you were locked away.”
> 
> “That was then. And Beel’s different.”
> 
> “And they’re human. Human life is delicate and all the more precious for it because they’re given so little time. For now, they’re more comfortable with the others. Don’t take that away from them just because it doesn’t include you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is a **filler** with minimal anger and demon interactions unless you count Solomon.  
> Also: Heavily focuses on Luke, Simeon, and the player character.
> 
> Look I want the MC to heal too :( I love them
> 
> Brain: If you make this chapter too long it'll scare people from reading it  
> Brain: Make sure you describe each interaction in full detail like it's a movie. Never forget. What did they have for dinner? Need to specify every flavour. Don't forget the little changes in their facial expressions, it's important. Everything's important. You gotta keep it all in. Don't look at the word count. DON'T LOOK AT THE WORD COUNT

Your mother didn’t raise a moocher in you; the custom to ‘bring something nice’ when going to someone’s house was ingrained since childhood. Even to the tackiest house party, you had brought crackers and discount soda—both before their expiration dates!

“I’m going to test several new recipes, so we have to do a lot of shopping today!”

“Don’t forget, Luke, I need to browse for artifacts at Hocus Pocus.” To you, “I’m afraid you signed up for a busy day.”

“I’m counting on it.” You hesitated. “You guys are fine with me tagging along?”

“Of course we are!”

Solomon bowed. “I’m always delighted when you spare the time. It’s rare to have you all to ourselves when the brothers cherish you. They’re not the sharing type, as you could tell.”

You made a face. “Leggo.”

Luke was grabbing things left and right, analyzing the contents, putting most of them back with a shake of the head, repeat. He looked to you for products he couldn’t reach because Solomon either made a sly comment or gave that infuriating giggle before obliging. Furthermore, you didn’t prod Luke with inane questions.

“I had been meaning to ask you out today, but you jumped the gun this time,” Solomon voiced, smooth as butter.

You re-shelved the leaky flour bag of Pallbearer’s Done-Boy, returning Luke’s grateful look with a smile. “Careful. I might not leave Purgatory Hall if you keep that up.”

“And why would you imply that’s a bad thing?” He brushed away flour residue with a smooth finger. “Then you’d be with us. Also,” he bent over, whispering, “I prefer to thank you in person.”

“Wait. He actually…?”

He held a finger to his lips with an ambiguous smile, motioning to Luke. Ooh, so charismatic and mysterious. You beamed back, turning your shoulder so Luke wouldn’t see what gesture you made with your hand for the sorcerer.

“I’m here, Luke. What do you need?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate your confections, Luke, but… isn’t this a bit much?” Solomon peeked at the brimming basket. “Are you planning to feed an army of demons?”

“Ha! As if! Even with exact measurements, a new recipe requires a lot of trial and error to master. Though I can ask Beelzebub to help if I make too many rejects.” He turned up his nose. “Can you get me that over there? I think that kind of sugar will work best.”

“Isn’t this a local brand?” Solomon turned it over. “What does it say… ‘Made with pure damnation from the slaves of Tartarus’, not bad.”

He puffed his cheeks. “It-it’s not like I could bring all of the Celestial Realm’s ingredients with me! Michael was very strict with what and how much I could take! So sometimes I have to substitute…”

You rubbed your head. “Food’s one of the best parts of cultural exchange.”

“Not to mention you’ve taken a shine to certain Devildom cuisine. You enjoy cooking with Barbatos, didn’t you?”

“Mmph, it wasn’t bad,” Luke sniffed. “For a demon.”

“You say that like you didn’t exchange five of your favourite recipes for the secret formula.”

“Because you insisted! You have a pact with him, Solomon, why didn’t you make him give it to me?”

“Why?” He put the sugar into the basket. “Because then you wouldn’t have had as much fun.”

“You’re… urgh!”

You had some Grimm saved thanks to the monthly stipends (à la Recreational Initiative of the Exchange Program, courtesy of _Lord_ Diavolo) that you practically never used, though you never let Mammon touch it.

“Are you buying something, too?”

“Uh…yeah. Don’t mind me.”

Wine; you were going for wine. Except what little you knew about wine (‘red’, you thought, ‘white, rosé’) didn’t count for shit when it came to demon wine. What was acceptable? Demonus should be fine, Lucifer drank it all the time—and you realized why when you looked at the price tag.

“Planning to get wasted?”

“Very funny.” You put it back. “I can’t go empty-handed like last time is all.”

“Ahaha!” Solomon inspected another bottle. “I didn’t expect to see consideration for such etiquette.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think this would work,” He held one out to you, one containing clear pink liquid. “The alcohol’s low enough even Luke can drink it and it has a sweet, caramel flavour.”

“Like rum?”

“Read the back.”

 _Triple-filtered from the depths of Lethe, this thirty-year aged toasty liquor is sure to fire you up!_ _  
_ _*Occult Brewery is not responsible for permanent amnesia, spontaneous combustion, and/or other incidents resulting from consumption. Please drink responsibly._

At least the wrapper was fancy. “If this kills me, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me: if that happens, everyone would be lining up to go after my life.”

“I’m done!” the angel chirped. “Help me carry this, it’s heavy!”

If the exchange program had any effect in broadening Luke’s tolerance for demonkind, it didn’t extend to those outside RAD. He gave a stiff nod as Grimm changed hands, only lifting his gaze from the floor to Solomon to pack everything in as you lined up next.

“Getting all sorts of creatures in here today.”

You did **not** have time to deal with this shit.

“You smell different from the midget over there. Human?”

“What if I am?”

“Your ID. This is alcohol.”

The fuck did he want, your driver’s license back home? Scowling, you whipped out the only form of ‘identification’ you had: your RAD student card. The demon adjusted his eyeball.

“Oho… You’ve five of the council wrapped around your little finger.”

“Here. Your Grimm.”

“Not so fast.” The demon grinned, revealing impossible rows of fangs. “You’re known around these parts. You know Astaroth in the RAD Newspaper Club? My cousin.”

“Not really.”

“Be careful, little human.” Just hand over the damn bottle! Jesus Christ! It placed it in your hands without letting go of the neck. “Without your little demons, you make yourself easy prey.”

You wrenched the bottle out of its talons. “Worry about yourself before you end up following _my_ orders, you fuck.”

“Orias,” Solomon put an arm around your shoulders. “Is there a problem?”

“Solomon… of course humans stick together. It’s quite touching to see.”

“And an angel!” Luke held a carton of cream as if he’d throw it. “Think twice before going after them, demon!”

You knew how little that threat meant. So did Solomon as he continued, “Astaroth has been an invaluable help during my stay. I’ll be sure to send him your regards; I’m sure he misses you.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Orias hissed with vanished arrogance. “When his pact is over I’ll be sure to rip apart—”

He waved his hand, insultingly polite. “Of course. Before then, let me just say that you and your cousin are absolutely living up to your respective potentials. Now, my classmates and I will be taking my leave.” He bowed. “Good day, Orias.”

Took a while to understand but when you did, you chuckled. The shadiest people knew how to draw blood with a smile. “Thanks.”

He lowered his hand to the small of your back. “Remember what I told you?”

“You don’t need to. I can’t help being human.” To Luke, “Let me carry more. I have a bigger bag.”

“Ohhh those demons are pure scum!” The angel seethed. “I hate them! If only I were as old as Simeon… or achieved rank archangel before coming here!”

“Luke, your coattails are quivering. If you show some teeth, you’ll really look like an angry puppy.” You gave Solomon a look, and he amended, “It’s fine. We’re out and no harm done.”

Marching back to the store and bashing over that cashier’s head with your bottle: worth it? No. Still imagining it? Yes. “Come on,” Your fingers brushed against his beret. “Let’s go.”

“That demon’s not worth it,” he muttered as if trying to convince himself.

At least not worth breaking your rum and the Grimm it took to get it. “Where to?”

Hocus Pocus sold very few items within a typical budget. As such, fewer assholes. Most were perusing enchantments, flipping through tomes, and didn’t give your group anything beyond a second look.

“Any idea what Solomon’s looking for?” Luke examined a collection of crystals with reserved admiration.

“Nope.” You gazed at one, entranced. “These are pretty. You like them?”

“They’re… all right,” he said in a tone that implied much more. “But I spent so much on baking supplies. I don’t want to worry Simeon.”

When Luke’s back was turned, you took a closer look at the precious stones. You checked your wallet… and laughed; these would be useless as dirt back home. So why not go all out?

“What’s so funny?” Luke was loath to leave your side. Whether it was for your safety or his, who knew. “You’re not getting the Gems of Sin, right?”

“Don’t worry.” You didn’t need a Gem of Wrath; your anger was enough. But if you stockpiled Gems of Lust… could you resell them in the human world? There were people who paid good money to get in the mood, get some, get off—

Mammon was rubbing off on you. “Hey, Luke, what are these?”

“These are Celestial-enchanted crystals!” He beamed with pride. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Though the gems are from the Human Realm. I’ll show Simeon next time.”

“Luke, can you come over here? I need you to help me parse this scroll.”

Perfect; the two were now preoccupied with—you stole a glimpse at the parchment—some runes. You scurried to the main counter.

“Here.”

“Chain, cufflinks, or other?”

“Yes,” you replied.

“Er, I mean…” Face burning, you amended, “Whatever works best. I, um, have this much left.” Yes, your foot wasn’t in your mouth deep enough. “Please hurry, it’s a surprise gift _and they’re right over there!”_ You frantically mouthed.

Welp, there went your Grimm. Kudos to the demon clerk, you only got a bemused stare before reaching over the counter and muttering some magic mumbo-jumbo, and now you had a pretty little bag of boxes and a _very_ light wallet.

“Thank you for your business,” he bowed.

“You, too.”

Fuck, why were you so bad at this?! You fled, loitering at the entrance as you smothered your face into your hands. This didn’t happen at the last store! So why?

_Because why would you expect decency from demons._

The straps dug into your shoulders. But if you slogged through school with a laptop, four textbooks, and academic misery all in a bag, you could carry this.

“This is all so heavy!” Luke groaned, sweat forming on his hair. “Aren’t you tired, Solomon? My arms are killing me!”

“Haha, then let’s rest a bit before we head back. We still have some time. I’ve been meaning to check out Madam Devian’s new Immorally Decadent Series.”

“How’s that now?”

“It’s ice cream.”

“Why didn’t you just say that,” you grumbled. Nothing here compared to eating out of a Benedict & Jeremiah’s with your favourite spoon. “Do they have, uh… human flavours? Sorry, flavours for the resident normal human?”

The first thing when you entered the confectionery was the overwhelming scent of chocolate. You and Luke had no objections when Solomon offered to buy what he thought best for the three of you. Fortunately, a couple of demons left their seats by the window and were walking out the door. As you passed them, you overheard:

“Hey, isn’t that the Celestial dog and the human student?”

You felt Luke bristle at your side. Instinctively you shielded him with your body as your hands became unsteady fists.

“Don’t bother.”

“Wha-at?”

The other demon jutted its head towards Solomon. “They came with _that_ one. Owner’s got a pact with ‘im and I wanna come back here. Now let’s go.”

Not for a minute were you convinced you were spared from the goodness of their nonexistent hearts. Which was why when Luke suddenly burst out, “That’s right! As if you louts would dare attack an angel! And this is my friend, so back off!” you sneered at the offending demons and turned your back with all the contempt you could muster, keeping a firm hand on your champion as the two brutes exited unfazed, other customers staring before turning back to their food.

“That was very brave, Luke,” you complimented once you wiped the table off.

“N-not really, I wish I could’ve said more…” His cheeks pinked as he kicked his heels against the chair legs. “If only I were strong as Simeon. Then I’d show them. I’d show them all the power of a true angel!”

You felt your shoulders slump in relief as you set your bag down. Knowing the angel would’ve scorned pity, you offered distraction instead, by saying, “Angels have their true Celestial forms too, don’t they? I’d like to see yours.” With a smile as you envisioned it, “I imagine you would look very beautiful.”

He brightened, starry-eyed. “I have the brightest wings in my class—back in the Celestial Realm, I mean. It was because of my wings and skill that I was chosen by Archangel Michael. I still remember.” He sighed, immersed in the memory. “But I can’t show it here.”

True, it was the Devildom. “Then I’ll just imagine it. I can see you now, wings bright as the sun!”

“And the robes!” He clapped his hands. “The exchange program made us promise not to reveal our true forms here, but we left our true Celestial robes behind because we can’t ever lose them, and sneaky demons might steal them. These are okay,” he tugged at his cravat, “but back home! Everything here drags and it’s sometimes hard to move my feet.”

He swung his heels again, staring at the table. “I’d show you. If Simeon says yes, I will.”

“I’ll ask him later,” you promised. “And if he still says no, maybe I can see it if the Celestial Realm ever holds an exchange program.”

“Demons in the Celestial Realm?! Maybe Barbatos wouldn’t be so terrible… and Beelzebub… I don’t know. But if it does,” he gave a shy smile, “I’ll be the first _real_ angel you get to see.”

You laughed. “Luke, you’re already the first real angel I’ve ever met. And I’m very happy to have met you.”

“Ah…!” Now he was _really_ blushing. He always did when someone made fun of him, but this time he was grinning. “I’m… happy to have met you, too. I—wow, look outside! That demon just disappeared!”

You turned your head in time to see chalk-like dust blown aside. “Must be a summoning.”

“Humans are so easily corrupted.” He shivered. “Why do they willingly summon demons?”

“Magical humans,” you revised. “The rest of us aren’t even aware that magic is real. Although,” you stared at the Devildom through the dusty glass as your smile vanished, “magic has nothing to do with corruption.”

“Not always, but it helps.” Solomon placed three generous helpings of ice cream on the table, taking his seat. “It makes even angels fallible, considering what happened to Lucifer.”

“That’s!” Luke bristled. “That was his choice! That doesn’t mean all of the angelhood is like him! At least, I think so…”

“Now, this is a heavy topic to have over ice cream.” He nudged one cup towards you. “It’s pomegranate with chunks of Heathen’s Black Forest Cheesecake.”

The scoop was bigger than your fist. “How much was it?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, seriously. How much?”

Wringing out what little remained in your wallet, you stuffed it into his hands. You _wouldn’t_ owe them any further than you could afford to. “Thanks. I thought you got something like pickled snakes or some shit.”

Solomon laughed. “Actually, mine has honeyed pixie wings, would you like to try some?”

“Eek!”

“I’m _joking,_ Luke. _”_ Yeah, sure, you totally believed him. And you hadn’t used your spoon yet, so… “Sure, let me have a taste.” You stabbed, plunged it in your mouth as you gave it an experimental chew. “It’s like crunchy caramel.”

He smiled. “What else could it be? Can I try yours?”

“Go ahead. Luke, you too,” With a warning glance at Solomon: “Nothing weird in mine, I hope?”

“You have my oath.”

“It tastes amazing!” Luke frowned. “But why do they call it Heathen’s cake?”

“Rumour has it the Madam puts a pinch of the ashes of heretics burned at the stake into the batter for flavour.”

Your face said it all. After a few moments, you shrugged and chomped away. It was still delicious, you paid for this, and the heathens were already dead; what could happen? After protesting for a good while, Luke was eventually placated into eating his ice cream without further comment, though he swirled it around for ashes.

“Mine tastes like cookies! This better not have weird demon stuff like crushed beetles or anything!”

“Actually, did you know, Luke, back in the human realm, crushed beetles are used in pastri—”

You kicked him under the table; or tried to. “Please, for the love of everything holy and unholy, shut up.”

When the conversation shifted to safer tracks, your eyes wandered to what lay beyond the window. Ghost lights drifted among cobbled streets, reflecting surrounding foliage and the edge of a sloppy student’s loose shoulder cape before they vanished around the corner.

Gardens flourished for much of the year with clusters of poppies and spider-lilies dotting the fronts of buildings. Fairymoss hung over rooftops, gleaming in silvery hues of lazuline and ochre as it snatched light from a half-moon peeping over the skyline; lanterns glowed every three paces. Even in your present frame of mind, you could derive a degree of pleasure from your surroundings.

If the Devildom tried this hard to brighten up the place, how did they manage to sleep? you pondered, turning over another scoop of pomegranate and cake in your mouth. Beel would’ve liked this. Mammon also liked sour treats; you ought to get some for them…

…and Beel would eat all of it except to share with that demon who—whoop there was the intrusive image of your mangled corpse! That your mind had revisited it countless times dulled the impact, but not much.

You weren’t running away. You were going to come back for the intervention which would be in… how many days? But until then, Lucifer could go fuck himself with the router he loved unplugging so much if he had any complaints.

And yet.

“Maybe I need another shower.”

“You can take a bubble bath when we go back to Purgatory!” Luke called, relieved that he could finally contribute.

“A bath? You guys have baths?” You paused.

“You don’t…?”

“I have a shower stall.”

“You’ve never taken a bath since coming here?” Luke demanded incredulously, sounding horrified.

“I take _showers.”_ You ran a hand through your hair. Was it your imagination or was it a little too greasy for comfort?

“You were spacing out there. Is he still giving you trouble?”

You looked around; in a place like this, there were those eager to spread more gossip about you. You caught a few demons’ eyes, glowered, and shook your head. Not here. Let them hear what they already knew. Pushing your empty cup aside, you asked, “You have a pact with Madam Devian?”

“A lovely lady. She tried to electrocute me several times before we forged a pact in fire and blood.” A sideways look at the demon behind the counter. “We’re better now.”

“Are you sure about that?” Luke fiddled with his ribbons.

“It’s part of her charm.” Solomon had already cleared the table. “Shall we be off?”

Ugh, your bag; so this was what a Marine felt suiting up for battle. You wouldn’t be surprised if the straps left permanent indents on your shoulders.

“Welcome back. I was looking forward to seeing you again, especially.”

“Sorry for crashing… again.” You scratched your head.

Simeon shook his head. “Never be sorry for something you were honest about, especially when we’re glad to assist.”

Your arms had the consistency of boiled noodles as you lugged it onto the table, taking out package after package of flour, baking powder, two packs of Madam Devian’s ice cream. When did they buy _this?_

“Luke,” Simeon admonished. “You made our guest carry this much?”

You waved him off. “It’s okay, I wanted to.” Your nonexistent muscles were screaming. “Oh, and I… uh… got this for you guys.” Brushing off the bottle, you placed it into Simeon’s hands like it was a love note. “I didn’t get you guys anything the last time I came over, so… and… you guys can drink it.”

Thank Jesus that he wasn’t awkward about it as you. “A thoughtful gesture, but you didn’t need to.”

“I know!” You cleared your throat. “It’s… a human custom. For normal humans, at least.” You pretended not to notice Solomon’s amused grin. “It’s how we say thank you.”

“Then why not just say ‘thank you’?” Luke asked.

“Because…” The answer solidified from one of your deepest-rooted principles. “Sometimes, showing is better than telling.” Oh, this was getting painful. “It’s just a gift for taking me in as a guest, all right?”

“A gift,” Simeon repeated. A smile dawned on his face. “Then, thank you.”

You ducked, abashed. It wasn’t Demonus quality but it was better than nothing. “I’ll, uh, help with the cooking.” You escaped to the kitchen. You were tired; that must be it. You couldn’t be this laughably incompetent otherwise.

“Oh, this is perfect! I could add this to tonight’s special!”

“Luke?” Didn’t think you’d hear that from him; wasn’t the alcohol content strong for him? You poked your head out. Solomon signalled you over. Grudgingly, you approached them, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Yeah?”

“It’s a wonderful gift, you needn’t be shy.”

 _Shy?_ You weren’t shy, you were… awkward with these kinds of things when it didn’t involve rage or people you had known for years. So it made no sense that you laughed, still red in the face. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, this is very nice. Luke has been wanting to try a new technique he had learned from Barbatos and with this, I can’t stop him.” So why was he smiling?

“Flambé!” Luke held a blowtorch. “And you can help me!”

Alcohol and fire; brought back memories of every fantastic decision you’ve made ever. “Leave it to me!”

Simeon raised his eyebrows. “You did this before? Luke said this was a difficult technique to master.”

“Not my first time setting things on fire. I got this.”

No, you didn’t.

After, Simeon confiscated the troublesome bottle before exiling you to the kitchen as Luke’s sober assistant. Some agreeable disagreement ensued, and a consensus was reached: the bottle would remain untouched until the absolute last for dessert. You pretended to pout, then laughed as you went to chop vegetables.

“Are you making dessert first?”

He nodded. “This is going to take the longest. I have to make sure everything goes right.”

For being teased by everyone left and right for his stature and verbosity, he was an earnest angel. After realizing his distress was genuine after a few teasing remarks, you had stopped entirely. You were never comfortable with children… but he wasn’t a real child. He had been baking for longer than you had been alive.

“We’ll use the blowtorch after this sets in the freezer,” he explained. “I infused the demon ice cream with milk from the Holy Pegasi, so look forward to it!”

You smiled as if you knew what flying horse milk tasted like. He talked at length at the wonders of the Celestial Realm, which you listened to without question or qualm. You missed your home, too, and if you were innocent enough, you would’ve talked about it freely as well.

“What do you miss most about your home?”

“Oh.” He stirred something in a bowl as he debated, clearly stumped. “I’d say Michael—but also my wings—and the—Pavilion of Hallowed Paradise—I can’t decide on just one! If I really had to choose one,” He tiptoed to whisper in your ear. “It’d be my robes. They were made especially for me when I was chosen and it has the golden insignia of Heaven.”

You reached over to lower the heat to a simmer. “Maybe you could be an archangel too, someday.”

“Not that soon!” He squirmed. “I still have a lot to learn under Michael’s tutelage. After a looooooong time, maybe! I certainly won’t become one staying here!”

Another comforting silence settled as you checked the stove. The plates and cutlery weren’t going to arrange themselves. You cut the roast into four servings when you heard your name in hesitant pronunciation.

“What is it?” You almost bent down before remembering.

“Back then…”

You waited without prompting for him to speak, wiping your hands on a dishrag.

“When I first met you, I told you… **never** trust a demon.”

“Right,” you confirmed, a bitter taste tingling your mouth. “I could’ve… but do you still believe that?”

“I don’t _love_ them,” he shook his head, resolute. “I don’t think I ever will. But things aren’t that,” he got out the word after much thought, “simple.”

Few things were. “Do you trust them?”

“Not… all of them.” He checked if Simeon and Solomon were out of earshot and, apparently dissatisfied, came closer to you. “Don’t tell them, but I like cooking with Barbatos. And the demon brothers weren’t as corrupted as I thought they would be.”

He drew back, folded his hands together. “In the end, they’re still a bunch of demons. You can never be too careful around them, and when Simeon told me you were a human without powers, I thought… I couldn’t believe they made you live with demons! Like they were _planning_ to eat you alive!”

Your mouth twitched. Minus the eating part, that was a solid guess. “Yeah, that’s me, the powerless one.”

He shook his head in a flurry of curls. “But you saved me. You saved an angel,” he repeated as if it were a phenomenon that passed understanding. “And then you brought _them_ under your control and fixed them. It’s amazing.”

Well, when he put it that way… “You make it sound like I’m some hero.”

He grinned. “Aren’t you? You must be someone of great importance in the human realm to do everything you did here.”

When you finally got your laughter under control, you wrapped him in a bear hug.

“H-hey! Why were you laughing? I was serious!”

“I know, I know, you sweet boy,” you giggled. “I’m sorry. Hearing that… I’m just a normal person back home. But thank you for saying it… and meaning it.” You gave him one last squeeze before making up your mind. “I’ll be right back.”

Ransacking your bag, you sped back to the kitchen after making sure the bottle remained sealed, which Solomon found extremely entertaining for some reason as he held his D.D.D. while leafing through a book with his other hand.

“Here.” You pressed the box into his hands. “I have stuff for the other guys but I want to give it to you first.”

It had been an impulsive choice. But your dad said you’d regret what you didn’t do more than what you did, which you agreed with. “I thought I saw you looking at this earlier,” you rubbed the nape of your neck. “I wanted to thank you.”

He looked up, bewildered. “But you already bought the drink… I don’t get it.”

You didn’t, either. But what was done was done. “I know. Back at Hocus Pocus, I thought you liked this colour, so I grabbed it and…” you peered over. “Huh. I guess the clerk made them into cufflinks? You don’t have to wear them if you don’t like it. It was kinda spur-of-the-moment.” Stop babbling. “The rum was for being a houseguest and this is for you because I wanted ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᶦᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ—” You were running out of breath.

Snatching a fistful of air, you lamely finished, “A lot of shitty things have happened.” You hoped ‘shitty’ didn’t count as an unacceptable swear word. “But you and Purgatory helped me feel better.”

This time his hug carried a muted appeal, one that made bluster falter to trace vulnerability.

When he smiled at you, you saw a glimpse of what he really was: a timeless Celestial who surpassed you in age, power, benevolence. It was like a veil had been lifted, giving to both his and your views a revelation of unsuspected realities. Perhaps… it would get better, not by the miracle cure of magic or vengeance, but continuing to endure, and peace would creep to your side through quiet ways, as naturally as a poppy from a recovering battlefield, a breath of fresh wind on a wound that would, must heal. You could almost feel the promise of it in his eyes, an ocean of clearest blue.

Then the veil dropped once more, but there was a strange spark that dwelled inside like a pledge. The timer beeped.

“Oh! The soufflé is ready!” Grabbing the oven mitts, he skittered towards the oven. “The last batch collapsed entirely, but these are holding their shape!” He held out a spoonful. “Could you try?”

Your mind was still reeling from—what the heck happened? It wasn’t unpleasant in the least, but… that was bizarre. You washed it down with some water. “Tastes good to me.”

He nodded, sampling some himself. “I’ll add more salt in the next round. But this is enough for dinner.”

“Nice.” You were about to chalk up the surreal moment you had just now to a mind glitch when he took the box from his pocket and opened it. Under his awestruck eyes, the crystals hovered over the metal surface as they spun in slow shimmering circles.

“Do you like it?”

“They’re so pretty,” he murmured. “Thank you! Are you sure you’re not an angel in disguise?”

“Haha! Nope, not at all, just a regular, non-magical human. No angel business here at all, none. Besides,” you recalled, “you were the first person here to give me a gift.”

“A gift? When did I… Oh, the cupcakes I made that—was a _long_ time ago! That doesn’t count, you helped make them!”

You wagged your finger. “It counts because you gave them to me.”

Dinner was great, the conversation light, and laughter aplenty. How lucky Simeon was to eat like this every day! Solomon was an excellent storyteller, reciting various encounters he had with demons when you felt a sudden stab of envy. If you had been put in Purgatory in the beginning…

“May I ask how you’re progressing concerning Belphegor?” Simeon smiled when the story was finished.

You chewed. “I took your advice.” Focus on the positives. “I, uh… yeah, I did it. What Jesus would do.”

Solomon scraped his chair inwards. “Do tell.”

You left out Lilith.

Simeon raised his eyebrows. His other companions showed less success in reining in their emotions: Luke’s eyes grew large as saucers while Solomon made no effort to curb his mirth.

“I don’t remember telling you to do what Yeshua would do,” Simeon spoke at length. “But I find it difficult to imagine Him doing what you described to me.”

“No—no, He flipped some tables and whipped some people who deserved it. Okay, not the knife part, I don’t remember that.”

“That’s hardly the key takeaway from His time in the human realm.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that it happened.” You grabbed a napkin, wiped your mouth. “Maybe that was how he worked it out as a human, let me know if you ask him. Solomon, stop laughing!”

You didn’t tell your story to show off; truly, you didn’t. The miserable aftermath and the clash of emotions had dulled the pride of the memory, rendering it unworthy to flaunt it to anyone besides yourself. Since you didn’t include details of your breakdown, Luke’s face held even _more_ admiration, Solomon was regarding you with approval, and Simeon…

“Guess, I’ll, heh, take my leave?”

“No. Why would you do that?” Simeon let out a sharp exhale and you knew that he, too, had been amused.

“You can’t leave us hanging like that,” Solomon added. “But finish your ragout first. We have the whole night.”

Oh, so you were staying over again. Actually, you kinda liked that; you _had_ stuffed everything you’d need for a sleepover, after all.

Luke was fastidious; a good trait for something meticulous as baking. You were, in contrast, a steadfast user of terms “fuck it, close enough” and “more garlic” when it came to culinary challenges. Fortunately, you were also a pretty good listener.

“It’s time for dessert!”

“Don’t use too much, Luke, we still need to drink some.”

One. You were allowed to use the blowtorch for just one, Simeon stressed. But it had been literal months since you lit a lighter or struck a match and you had loved playing with fire. The blue flames that slowly turned the edges of the meringue to black were fascinating to look at. You poured maybe a little more.

“Isn’t that a little too much alcohol? Very pleasing to look at, nonetheless.” Solomon commented after taking the torch out of your hands. “Now the pie _and_ the pudding are on fire. I hope they’re still edible.”

“En flambé!” Luke brought out the plates. “It’s not pie.”

“And we still have enough to drink.” Simeon poured generously. “I want to take a picture before the flames burn out. Is this the camera button?”

“Simeon, it’s in selfie mode. Press that icon to switch it back.”

“This?”

“No, that’s the flash—argh!”

“My eyes!”

“You’re an angel. Aren’t you used to bright light?”

“I thought you said it was this.”

“You thought an icon shaped like a lightning bolt would switch the camera view?”

“Aw, now all the flames are gone.”

“I took pictures,” Solomon re-pocketed his D.D.D. “I’ll send it to all of you guys later. Mind if I share some of them?”

“Just the nice ones.” Cups were raised. “Cheers!”

“What are we cheering for?” Luke asked after taking a sip.

“How about to us, the exchange students of Devildom?”

What a safe answer. “Let’s drink to… to beating back the demons someday!” You knocked back your glass.

“Oh! I will drink to that!” Luke happily copied your move.

“Are you drunk already?” Solomon quirked an eyebrow.

“Don’t be stupid.” You popped a forkful of cream and cake into your mouth. Wait, this was… “Baked Alaska?”

“Glace au four!” Luke cut his open to reveal the encased swirl of cream. “I didn’t have enough Pegasi milk, so I added some nectar, too.”

“From the Celestial Realm?”

“From the Celestial Realm,” Luke said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You took another bite, savouring the spread of custard and burnt rum. You closed your eyes, opened them slowly as thoughts sparkled and dropped, like pearls slipping off a string.

_Coming up next on CCB is MaestroChef. On tonight’s Elimination Trial, the most complicated dessert yet. And poor Daniela has ruined her batch of sponge cake for her Baked Alaska. Will she be able to survive today’s challenge, or will she put her MaestroChef dreams to the torch?_

“This drink is really good… I want another.”

Your sister blew a raspberry. _It’s my turn on the television._

“No more for you after this, Luke.”

_She gave him forbidden food from the Celestial Realm, hoping it would save his life._

“Hey… am I allowed to eat this?” Angel food, demon food, how weren’t you sick?

“If the bite comes from Eden—”

“—it shall be for the holy brethren!” Luke recited, eyes barely open.

“A phrase to help us remember what food is safe for non-angels to eat,” Simeon explained. “It’s catchy but effective.”

_I’d rather watch SpongeRobert. This is so overdramatic._

“As any good phrase should be,” Solomon sipped his glass. “What kind of Celestial foods are humans forbidden to eat?”

“The apple!” you slapped Solomon’s restraining hand away as you poured another cupful. “Relax, I’ll drink it slowly this time.”

_Go watch it with your sister. Lord knows you could learn a thing or two about cooking._

“That, and more,” Simeon gave a vague smile, wistfully shadowed. “Only the High Seraphs are allowed into the Courtyard of Eden now.”

You and Solomon caught the word simultaneously. _“Now?”_

“The Great Celestial War,” His cheeks wore a darker flush, but was it really from the alcohol? “Solomon, could you fetch me the bottle in the fridge? The one with the red ribbon around it.”

“The one Lucifer gave you at the beginning of the program?”

“The very same. Today seems fitting to finally open it.”

“Only a little for me, please,” he gave you a sideways glance. “For both of us humans.”

“Don’t order for me,” you half-growled.

You swayed when you stood, but other than that, you were sober as a gopher. Come on, it was only two glasses.

“Aww, Luke’s sleeping.”

“I’ll carry him—oh, guess you’ll be doing that. Are you sure? You don’t seem too steady.”

You stuck your tongue out at Solomon. Your nerves eased as you hefted the sleep-smudged little profile, feathery golden lashes alighting upon soft skin, flawless to the eye. He smelled like honey and you had to resist a serious urge to snuggle beside him as you set him upon his bed.

_What’re you guys watching?_

Smoothing the coverlets over Luke, your fellow human student offered you a supporting arm.

“Even I’m not immune to the effects of alcohol,” he whispered to you with the air of a fellow conspirator, “but I think we’re about to hear quite the story.”

“I should wash the dishes, at least.”

He smiled, shook his head. “Let me take care of that. I’m a guest here, too.”

“It is very rude if only the host drinks,” Three glasses of Demonus gleamed on the coffee table. “The Great Celestial War… what do you two know of it?”

_Hey, dumbass. We’re betting on who’s going home this episode. Look, he fucked up his meringue so bad, it’s gotta be him._

“…and you? What’s your take on the Celestial war?”

You mumbled some keywords from class, taking careful sips from your first cup.

“Ah, Lucifer,” Simeon’s glass was already half-empty. “He was the best of us. Perhaps it was poetic that the brightest was to fall. The war was on such a grand scale that very few parts of the Celestial Realm remained untouched. Eden,” he leaned back, “did not have that blessing.”

Solomon sampled his Demonus; judging from his reaction, you ought to try yours, too. “Sabotaging supplies is the first measure taken during war, if not before it.”

“Perhaps, but the first theft was a series of actions that led to the official declaration of the war.”

Did you really want to hear the same story through a different voice? You contemplated before finishing the last of your rum with a decisive gulp. Your eyes smarted, but you didn’t care.

“It must’ve been a serious crime.”

“The one who stole it…”

_What a stupid show. I wanna see more._

“…also fought off the angels who tried to stop it from happening. One was days away from being named archangel; the rest were her protégés, but the thief was too strong.”

You drew your hand back, uneasy. “The—angel who stole it—fought back?”

“I would like to believe it was out of desperation,” Simeon coughed into his elbow. “But regardless of motive, they fought back… viciously. The angel who tried to stop them was hurt.”

Your wrists itched. Spit it out already. “What happened to her?”

He took a long drink.

“Her wings wouldn’t have been crippled if she didn’t worsen her injuries trying to protect her students.”

_She was to be wiped from existence so that nothing at all was left. Disposed of, as if she were nothing more than garbage._

“What happened to the thief?” Solomon asked calmly.

Simeon refilled both their cups. “Killed in the war. Even if they weren’t, the weight of their crimes had sealed their fate. All of the perpetrators meddled with both the Celestial and Human Schema. There was no evading that.”

You drank, hoping your voice wouldn’t waver. “And the crippled angel?”

“Raphael found her,” A grim smile kindled. “But she blamed herself for not stopping the thief. Blamed her own weakness. She fought the war to atone for a tragedy none blamed her for… and gave up her life for it, as did countless others.”

The deaths, the rage—all of it weakened you. But nothing beyond a passing acknowledgement was ever said of the nameless casualties.

As if reading your mind, Solomon spoke to the both of you. “Every war has its share of unintended victims. All too many go unnoticed. Your story is appreciated, Simeon.”

This time you wobbled a little more as you stood up.

“Time for me to sleep. Did you tell Lucifer you would be staying the night?”

You sat back down. “Shit.”

You were _not_ drunk and if Karasu didn’t autocorrect as efficiently as your real phone you were going to throw this piece of junk out the window.

**< The House of Lamentation(7)**

_I’m staying over Purgatory._

You ignored the barrage of emojis.

**Lucifer**

_You consistently ignore our messages and show up only to say what you want to say?_

_Problem?_

_Is there a rule that only you can do that?_

**Leviathan**

_But you said you’d play Mononoke Land with me!_

_What about our monthly TSL commentary night? I finally got the director’s cut!_

_That._

_I’ll borrow Solomon’s game system or something._

**Satan**

_Do not trust anything he offers you, for your own sake._

_Your advice is accepted._

_But not adhered to?_

_（´υ｀）_

_I’m serious. Did you get that from Simeon?_

**Lucifer**

_Enough with the japes. Why do you persist in making things difficult?_

_YOLO_

**Beelzebub**

_?_

**Leviathan**

_I understood that! But, normie, that term’s totally lame now._

_It is. And I was_ supposed _to only live once._

_Wanna know lame? Facing the demon who ended it._

**Satan**

_And Belphie’s not even here to defend himself._

**Mammon**

_Not that he would._

_Oh! I’ve got an amazing idea!_

_Not in the mood, Mammon._

_Make a pact with Belphie!_

_Then you can boss him around!_

**Asmodeus**

_And who’s going to make him, Mammon? You?_

_Don’t wanna pact with him._

**Beelzebub**

_Then what should we do instead?_

_Should lemme do what I want_

_Gimme a heads-up if he wants to kill me again._

_Bye._

“It’s rather warm here. You might feel better if you had some air. May I?” Offering his arm.

You started to shake your head, and he pressed, “I think the air would do you a lot of good.”

Your refusal died on your lips as fragmented thoughts aligned. Following him wouldn’t even crack the top ten of your stupidest decisions. You slipped your arm through his.

The air was cooler on the railing, and the sky was clear, starred with remote pinpoint lights. It would’ve looked cooler if there was a fog.

“Your face is very warm.”

“Your hands are cold.” Subconsciously leaning into his palm, you decided it was only fair to reciprocate by… slapping your hands over his. “Humans are supposed to be warm, see?”

“I think it’s fair that I let you know the results of my conversation with Belphegor.”

“Did he tell you where you could shove it?” You laughed bitterly.

“On the contrary,” Solomon withdrew his hands, holding them out in front of his chest. Above his outstretched fingertips, purple fire flickered, the emblem of Sloth ablaze before vanishing just as quickly.

“I’d like to thank you for fulfilling my favour.”

“You’re joking,” you blinked, stared at him. “He actually… holy fuck. With you?”

“Actually, it happened a few moments ago,” he shrugged as if discussing the weather. “It’s a _very_ conditional pact (you remember, I hope, that there are 113 specific types) and Satan probably helped him outline the terms all morning. Still, I’ve got what I wanted… due in no small part, to you.”

You didn’t know what to say. Turning to the sky and the cool midnight wind tickling your face, you faced the illimitable vacuum that was the Devildom sky, and could only think:

**Shiiiiiiit.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surrounded by demons: fuck you. You gave me every reason to be angry and I will burn everything around me. You took my freedom, my dignity, my life and left me with nothing else to lose. Do you feel my fire? I will burn myself if that's what it takes to get a degree of retribution.
> 
> Surrounded by angels: Yeah, um, this, this is for you since I crashed last time and didn't make up for it so it's a gift! I, er, thought it would be nice because… because… you guys were really nice to me and…don't take it the wrong way, I just wanted to thank you, and, um…


	11. Retaliate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could demons understand the human concepts of letting go and acceptance?
> 
> (Seriously, how tf is this MC gonna make a pact with Belphegor & Lucifer? I wrote myself into a corner holy shit)
> 
> And now, back to our regular programming of MC's mild irritation and resentment!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A past conversation with Solomon:**
> 
> “I’ve been interested in making a pact with the rest of the brothers for a long time. But I think by starting with Asmodeus, the others have become too suspicious to give me a chance.”
> 
> “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the only reason they find you shady.”
> 
> “Still, you were clever. By starting with Mammon and working your way up, the brothers didn’t suspect you as much until it was already too late.”
> 
> “Thanks. What a relief I started pacts by ascending order of _intelligence_ while you went with descending order of beauty.”
> 
> “What kind of person doesn’t enjoy beautiful things? Speaking of beauty, do you think you’ll ever make a pact with Lucifer?”
> 
> “How could I, when the greatest human sorcerer of all time hasn’t done it first?”
> 
> “You flatter me. Not as sweet as Asmo, but it’s admirable.”
> 
> “Asshole. Can’t always let you steer the conversation. And for the record, no. I pissed him off too many times for that to ever happen. So you’re targeting him next?”
> 
> “Lucifer? Eventually, but for now, my interest is his youngest brother.”
> 
> “…you have weird tastes, man.”
> 
> “Hahaha! Unfortunately, he refused to even hear me out.”
> 
> “Are you really surprised?”
> 
> “From him, no. He is the Avatar of Sloth, after all; being at the whims of a human would be a nightmare for him.”
> 
> “Oh, I see… I see what you’re getting at. Fine, I’ll see what I can do. But again, no promises.”
> 
> “Haha, I understand. But if this works as I hope it does… then I will owe you a great favour. A pact is no small feat that it can be paid off by electronic trifles. Do consider it.”
> 
> “Wow, a favour from Solomon? Let’s do a spit swear on it, make it official.”
> 
> “How about a Formula of Accord? More magic, less saliva-induced. Take my hand.”
> 
> “Ooh, spicy.”
> 
> “It’s a spell. When you fulfill your part of the bargain, I’ll be obligated to fulfill an equal favour anytime you wish to call on it. Of course, you have to uphold your part first since I invoked this.”
> 
> “And if I fail?”
> 
> “Then the accord is never consummated then it simply lingers as unfinished magic, no harm done.”
> 
> “That’s great, but did you have to use the word ‘consummated’?”

You dreamed you were perfect.

Tucked in bed, wine-addled visions shaped a surreality entertained from thoughts that might’ve borne action in a different world. You had forgiven Belphegor out of boundless grace and understanding. Everything unsavoury was forgotten by all, including yourself. What was important was the present where you were alive and beloved by the demons that held a special place in your heart. Life was once more sweet, like the days before anguish put to shambles the happiness you had taken as your due.

Only in the recesses of slumber could you be honest with yourself: you were spent. A mind unused to such intensive and prolonged emotive turbulence was bound to break down and you didn’t know how many times you could keep scraping it back together.

You _wanted_ to heal, or at least stop this from burning you over and over again until beyond repair. But you couldn’t bring yourself to pay their price, to completely absolve them of the weight of their actions done to you.

Alcohol provided immediate sleep but not a deep one. When you heard voices, you weren’t sure if they came from the kitchen or your head.

“Yes, they’re safe… eye on the Newspaper Club… selective erasure has detrimental effects…”

Shit, you must’ve kicked the blanket off. You shivered, grasping for bedding. Was this blanket for Luke? It was awfully small. Curling into a ball, you wished you had thicker pyjamas.

Warmth covered you; instinctively you snuggled closer. Your breaths slowed as a pleasant comfort embraced you, tugging you back to contrived bliss.

“All right… they’re doing better… after they wake up…”

In the dazzling dream filled with unrealistic compassion, you heard your laughter, clear and untainted as your trust in each of them, smiling back without any misgiving. In another world, another time, perhaps, this was reality.

As picturesque as this halcyon dream was, such an idealistic solution held no foothold here, held no more substance than the soap bubbles you had loved playing with so much as a child. Your reality was a revolving carousel of travesty, a death you wished you could forget but couldn’t bear to dismiss as the others had. Reality was the deadlock between you and the Devildom you knew would end in your loss. Reality was that however idyllic things _could’ve_ been—you weren’t the golden child that could make it work, to make the personal sacrifice of burying your body forever.

Which was why, even in a fleeting pipe dream, it tore at you. Let your heart weep blood, the tears that you’d never shed in wakefulness. You were exhausted; that was the word, but it wasn’t strong enough.

Blessed Christ, there was no end to this.

No. They weren’t supposed to fawn over you like this. Make this stop, your mind shuddered in a voiceless shout. This gilded fantasy was just another drawn-out ordeal, an attractively boxed nightmare.

In the space between your blurred focus, he came closer. Who was it? He was beautiful.

You didn’t like his smile. An angel’s smile wouldn’t look that troubling. A demon? A demon who had smiled at you like that—your body spasmed. Oh, you’d give him a _hug_ , all right. Right to his fucking face. You backhanded that hateful cretin right across the mouth, damning this utopian charade. The face went away.

The stifling, knotted sensation in your chest eased, similar to the catharsis after a massive dump. The dream melted away, languor seeping and liquifying your bones, evoking a free-floating sensation. Turning toward level breaths and unfeigned kindness that came after hurt, you cradled yourself in the oblivion of blessed silence.

When you were certain you could remain awake for more than a few minutes this time, you were home. Real light shone near your bed and your phone charger was missing. You told your jackass brother to put it back if he had to use yours.

“Mm… I may have drunk more than I… please don’t tell Gabriel.”

“Gabe? When did you start caring about him?” You grumbled, starting to open your eyes. Did he breathe helium again? “He’s an asshole, don’t listen to anything he says.”

“You’re not wrong, but he’s still…”

Huh. Now wasn’t this a surprise.

“Oh…”

“Um… I don’t think we’re talking about the same Gabriel.” You disentangled yourself from the bed and its occupant with mechanical precision, standing in what was very clearly not your room, recalling the events that had transpired. “Sorry. Should’ve taken the couch.”

“No. I’m the one at fault for not realizing…” Simeon realigned his sleeves. Even his sleepwear was gratuitously elaborate with its arrangement of gilded baubles. “I beg your pardon. It’s embarrassing that I told Luke to control his alcohol intake when I have a poor grasp over mine.”

You reached over the lamp to increase its brightness. “I wasn’t much better. Anyway, these things happen. Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re not offended? Or concerned?”

“I’ve done stupider things after drinking.” You rolled your neck as you gave your spine a good crack. “Drunk-cuddling with you was…” you cleared your throat, abashed. “…not one of my worse decisions.”

Plus, look at those ridiculous knots on his pyjamas. There was no way things could’ve gone drunkenly sexual and still look that pristine, not a single clip unhooked. “But, uh, let’s not talk about this ever again.”

“But both of you were so adorable all snuggled up.” Solomon waltzed in. “I had half a mind to join in myself.”

“You say that like you hadn’t,” they exchanged glances and a smile.

Why did everyone have gradient eyes except you? You stared at his eyes, trying to discern exactly what colours they held. He _said_ it was blue with hints of gold, but even with the reflected lamplight, you saw shades of ash with the subtlest tawny speckles. Like the backdrop of a forest horror movie.

“Are my eyes enchanting?” He tilted his head to give you a better angle. “What do you see in them?”

 _Pomposity._ “Your pupils,” you answered. “They’re huge.”

His irises rippled, smoke-grey mingling into the most vivid of blues. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

“You mean the part where I tried to climb over the railing and fly? Yeah.” You rubbed your eyes. “My bad.”

“Not at all,” Solomon suppressed a chuckle with poor success as he drew back. “You were, for the most part, docile enough to be convinced back to the room. Do you recall anything else?”

“What did I do?” You ran through the worst possible (yet realistic) scenarios. Did you set the trash can on fire again? “Do I have to pay for any damages?” you asked like you had any more Grimm to your name. “Did I try to hit on you?” Oh fuck, not again. “Um, when I get drunk I can get very affectionate sometimes, so if I did—”

“Nothing of that sort,” he assured. “Though if those are the first conclusions you jumped to, we should drink together more often.”

“Ah-ha-ha-ha! No, we don’t.” You noticed the side of his cheek. “What’s with your face—did I hit you?”

“I’m sure you mistook me for someone else,” he smiled. You must not have hit him very hard if it was just a faint blot near his jawline.

“Oh, Jesus, I—my bad.” This was why you had to know your limit. “Yeah, I was dreaming… wasn’t you.”

“It’s understandable.” He nodded. “Then, shall we prepare for the day ahead of us?”

“I’ll wake Luke,” Simeon finished making his bed.

“Wait,” your hand latched onto Solomon’s sleeve. “You sure I didn’t do anything else?”

“That depends on what you mean.” His eyes glittered; you weren’t going to get any answers outta him.

“Somehow, I’m not sorry for hitting you anymore.”

“Also understandable. And before you panic,” he picked up the music player you had forgotten somewhere, handing it to you, “rest assured, you weren’t bewitched. Everything that had transpired was by your doing and no one else’s.”

“That’s about the least reassuring thing you could’ve said.” To a yawning Luke, “Did you sleep all right?”

Alcohol and indistinct regret left an acerbic aftertaste that toothpaste couldn’t fully wash out. Throwing on the obnoxiously bright dress shirt (Teal, you cringed. Why teal?) and—fuck the necktie, you stuffed it into your back pocket.

“Thanks again for having me over.” Let it never be said you didn’t show your manners in Purgatory Hall (when sober).

“Mm… so sleepy…”

You tousled the flaxen hair that tumbled down his forehead. It was a harmless gesture; why were they staring?

“What?”

“You adore Luke,” Solomon reoriented his cape. “It makes me somewhat jealous.”

“Very funny.” You didn’t know what else to say to that. Luke’s additional words were rendered unintelligible as he struggled with residual sleep. “I should go. You guys don’t have classes?”

“Only in the afternoon,” Simeon replied. “Do you have your jacket?”

“I left it back in my room.” Resigning yourself to the inevitable, you opened your D.D.D. for today’s itinerary of torture. Aw, you missed Devildom Culture & History. You could catch the last fifteen minutes of the lecture if you rushed.

You briefly considered staying to take the bubble bath, but decided against it; the last thing you wanted was to have demons storming one of the last places you could take a reprieve.

You didn’t trust yourself to give the gifts to the other two residents of Purgatory without embarrassing yourself. When you thought no one was looking, you sneaked one box under Simeon’s pillow. The other you chucked into the folds of Solomon’s mantle because the bastard didn’t have any pockets.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for breakfast?”

“I already missed one class,” you accepted a croissant, fresh from the oven, with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Luke. See you guys!”

 **_♫_ ** **Oh baby, obey me ♪ ♬ It's the time to take the oath—**

You cursed; you were certain you had put your D.D.D. on vibrate. Did you change the settings? When? Flustered, you whipped it out. Out of reactionary habit, you answered it to stop the ear-splitting ringtone.

“What.”

Someone responded. Your expression dropped; why the hell didn’t you check caller ID? Luke stared at you with drowsy interest, Simeon with worry. You felt your thoughts stutter and crash as streams of chaos careened into fractured recollections. Tsk. Damn it!

“Fine. I’ll be there. No, I’ll go myself.” If this had been your grandma’s rotary phone you’d have slammed it down on the receiver. Aggressively tapping the ‘end’ button didn’t have the same effect.

There must’ve been something on your face that told everyone to back off. Even Solomon looked uncertain as you thrust the D.D.D. back in your pocket. You were still tense, but this wasn’t the right place. Managing a marginally passable grin and a self-conscious shrug, you aimed your gaze towards the door.

“Is everything… okay?” Luke took a tentative step toward you.

“Dunno yet,” you grabbed your bag, giving its contents a brief scan. “Oh, don’t look like that. Better hurry before they decide to drag me out of here by my hair.”

“They wouldn’t dare!”

“Calm yourself, Luke. Definitely not the hair. I heard that Lucifer’s favourite punishment is to string his victim upside down and let them hang for a century or two. It’s of little consequence to a demon, but…”

Like a cured ham? You were too wrapped up in your own problems to chastise Solomon. “If he does that, it had better kill me quickly.”

“Stop it, you two. Luke, Lucifer wouldn’t do that to them,” Simeon said.

You couldn’t stay here. “Tell me about Gabriel later!” Stuffing the rest of the croissant into your mouth, you gave them one last wave and took off, Purgatory Hall growing smaller and smaller behind you.

Your limbs creaked as you forced your legs to run harder. What was that that just rolled under the sole of your shoe? A stick? A demon’s vape? You keeled over, kneecap thudding against pavement as the rest of your body collapsed in succession.

Godfuckingdammit. Physical pain moistened your eyes and for a second you considered staying down on the ground, wondering what the point even was of getting up. Oh, you could hear the infomercial music now: _Are you tired of_ this _happening to you?_

_There’s got to be a better way! Oh, but wait, there’s more!_

Your palms still stung, the bruises on your legs were nothing more than a distant memory, and you couldn’t remember what other injuries you had on your flesh. You sighed, forcing your weight on your hands. No one else was gonna help you up.

Shaky legs and skinned knees notwithstanding, you somehow pulled yourself to the gates of Lamentation, which were… unlocked. Who was still inside?

“Finally, you're back! Took you long enough!”

Made sense. Nothing short of a direct order from Lucifer would get _him_ outside for any longer than he needed to be. “You were waiting for me?”

“Yes. I mean, no!” He fumbled with his game cards. “Not in… not like what you think.”

“Everyone else is at RAD then?”

“Yeah. You… you’re gonna go, right?”

He followed you to your room. He, you also noticed, was no less comfortable about this than you were. You looked him in the eye—this TSL-loving shut-in who hadn’t been all that involved in this fiasco, to begin with—and despite the tiny, unfading ember of resentful envy toward the one demon wise enough to remain a wallflower, you didn’t want to kill him. You couldn’t _afford_ to hate him; your roster was overflowing at the moment.

“I’m taking a shower first.”

While he tapped on his D.D.D., all you could think was: how did he and everyone else keep their nails so impeccably painted? Didn’t they get tired of painting it the same colour? Or did they deliberately colour-code themselves for your convenience?

“Lucifer said it’s going to be in an hour,” he whistled low. “I’m going to play some games while I wait, then.”

“You go do that,” In an indifferent afterthought, “How was the latest episode of TSL?”

“You wouldn’t believe it!” Your eyes flew open as he flipped out a disc case. Where the hell did he keep that, his crotch? “Henry willingly walked into the trap set by the Lord of Masks for his true friend, the Lord of Shadows.” He sniffed.

Fishing your notebook out of your bag, you flipped through your notes. You pressed your lips as you read; each page still retained the impotent rage in the dulled ink, between every word, rage fresh as when they were first written as if they still held heat that drew you in.

“And now he’s become indoctrinated! But you have **got** to see the new getup Henry now has! It’s one of the best evil costume switches I’ve ever seen, and believe me, there’s a lot of those in anime! I **need** to cosplay as him.”

You tossed it back into your drawer. “Levi.”

“Uh?”

“I’m going to take a shower. Show me what I missed _after.”_

“Oh… right, okay then.”

On second thought, you took the notebook with you to the bathroom. Tearing out the pages, you read them as water and suds trailed down towards the drain, watching the ink bleed away from the soggy pieces of paper, cynicism contorting a crooked chuckle. Your anger didn’t need a printed medium to be articulated coherently.

Throwing the waterlogged crap into the can, you inspected yourself. Your knees stung, but they didn’t bleed. Couldn’t remember where you got this cut, that bruise; bah. Slapping your hair back, you ambled to your closet.

“Finally you’re out—aouf!” He plastered his hands over his eyes. “I-I thought you took your clothes with you!”

“I did.” Just your underclothes, that is. “Relax, even if I didn’t cover what’s necessary, there’s nothing to see.”

“Uh, um, self-burn much?” He still refused to look at you. “And aren’t you supposed to be, er, more embarrassed about this than I am, like that scene from Fruit Gasket when they go to the hot springs?”

 _You_ were gonna blow a gasket if he didn’t shut up. “I’m going to change. Are you still going to stay here?”

“Nope! Nopenopenope—” he slammed the door behind you. “Sorry for the intrusion!”

Pfft. Your smile was too fleeting to be noticed. But smiles weren’t going to help you with this. You flung open the wardrobe. If your humanity marked you an outsider no matter what you wore, why wear anything that implied you wanted to fit in?

This wasn’t a first date. Calm down, you fruitlessly told yourself as you stared at your closet, debating on what to wear. Why would you wear their uniform if you were going to make your stand?

Your gaze flitted to the outfit Asmodeus had gifted you. No. Already that memory was softening your resolve. You wouldn’t let your poise be demolished that easily. Mumbling profanities, you dug through silk and satin, cashmere and gloss, until you found the clothes that would give you the surest fortitude, if not the best impression.

Actually, scratch that; you’d give them whatever impression you wanted.

You chuckled, shook your head. It was a human thing to draw comfort from the familiar, no matter how mundane. After all this time, your hoodie still carried trace scents of home. The colour was drab after so many washings, but you had come here with literally only the clothes on your back. Imagine if Diavolo had summoned you while you were taking a shower or watching porn!

In the first weeks of your kidnapping/program, you had worn them obsessively, eventually hiding them in the dresser to stow away your homesickness… and sometimes forgot their existence when this place grew on you.

Shimmying into your faded jeans and shamelessly glad that you still fit into them, you adjusted your sneakers. They were scuffed, permanently streaked with dirt after the one time you had tried (and failed, spectacularly) doing a kickflip on your then-partner’s skateboard. The mirror faithfully reflected you in all your human glory when you first came here.

Not exactly, you thought. You haven't had a haircut since coming here and it showed.

There was also something on your face that betrayed its physical youth, as if very little could surprise you ever again. What a ridiculous thought. Pulling the hood over your head, you briefly closed your eyes, a tranquil lull stirring an old, here-and-gone memory—the smell of melted cheese in the microwave, the sense of some easy-going, kindly place.

“Hey! We have to go, Lucifer’s calling us _now!”_

The lull ended as you snapped your eyes open, your storm brewing in response. You grinned. Your canines were nowhere near as intimidating or sharp as a demon’s, but they were enough.

 _Entre la espada y la pared_. That was all you remembered from Spanish class, a proverb you had liked. Now, with its meaning having taken a personal significance for you, you could only grin wider. Suddenly, all of this couldn’t come fast enough. You walked out.

“Leviathan.”

He was still absorbing your outfit. “Yeah…?”

“What do you think this will accomplish?” Except for the D.D.D., you had nothing on your person. It was truly like the beginning. “What’s Lucifer thinking?”

You didn’t actually expect him to respond with anything sensible.

“Um, probably wanting you to make up with B—all of us?” He shifted his gaze as the campus came closer into view, with more students staring as they walked past. “I meeeaan, I guess it's cool that Lucifer’s trying _now_ to make everything buddy-buddy, but you…”

“What?”

“I want to ask first, we’re like… w-we're, um… f-friends, right?”

Eh… “Sure.”

“What does that mean?”

“More than your other brothers,” you stuck out your tongue. “So you were saying?”

“I—fine, whatever. What I was _gonna_ say was, we weren’t always true friends, right? You were just a normie, and then you pulled that really dirty trick of yours in our competition, and… and…”

“And… I would’ve been dead if Lucifer didn’t stop you,” you finished. He stared at the ground.

“Yeah. That… yeah. I didn’t… anyway!” He cleared his throat. “I always said Belphie and I are _too_ similar, and this is kinda… kinda similar, right? If you guys held a competition, or—or something like, an activity, like the retreat…”

_He may be a high-ranking demon, but he’s quite harmless by nature. Try not to hold it against him._

Forcing the cruder urges of your ire back, you quipped back with admirable restraint. “If the solution is that simple, then I can see how little my life meant to begin with. Even with you.”

He flushed, but you gave him no chance to speak. “Let’s not do this here.”

He bit his lip, nodded. Right, he wasn’t particularly… vocal when it came to these things, was he? Yanking on the strings of your hoodie, you gave him a glance before trekking on. You alternated between glaring and smiling like an asylum escapee towards the students in your way.

“Oh, man. They’re all giving me weird looks,” he whimpered. “It’s not fair, even Beel has more friends. Why can’t any of my internet friends attend RAD with me?”

“Maybe they’re afraid that you might kill them if it turns out they like TSL more than you?” you snapped.

Your hatred was focused and only growing towards an outrage beyond pacification. You felt it like chakra from Narutoad. Not that you were ever going to try that stupidass run, though.

The double doors were heavy, resisting your two hands. Even the carpentry was against you? Your teeth grinded. You drew back.

“Wa-wait! I’ll get them, they’re—!”

All at once, it was crucial to you that the doors opened without external assistance, and you threw your entire weight onto the obstruction. The aged wood splintered, gave way grudgingly. Shoving a foot in, you pried open your way into the Student Council Hall of RAD.

“You said the intervention would be after a **week**.”

He responded without batting an eye. “Your recent behaviour has roused substantial concern in all of us. I had thought it best to pull it forward, and it is not by that big a margin.”

You had always thought of the banners, hanging above each seat in the council with the animal symbol of each demon, the most impressive feature of this room. It was the first thing you had seen when you were magicked here, and placed between each window and lit up by the unnecessary amount of candelabras, you could observe each animal and connect them to the brother they represented even before the Devildom textbook beat you over the head with it.

“Lord Diavolo will be arriving soon. Levi, take your seat.”

Why were they sitting on their thrones, forcing you to look up at them? Why was this shaped like a courtroom, as if you were being held on trial—right. **This** was what Solomon had meant, what Satan had warned you of. You wouldn’t be stewing for long.

You thawed a tiny bit when you scanned the other familiar faces. You couldn’t tell if Levi’s discomfort stemmed from having to be out of his room or the small tiff you had on the way here. Okay, you did feel a little bad about that; he was just the escort. Mammon seemed no worse for wear save for a few extra bags under his eyes. Must’ve been a lit night with them witches, you thought.

He stared at you when he thought you weren’t looking. Worried, tiny glances that made a heart constrict in a dreary wave.

You refused to look to the right, rejecting all possibilities of giving that demon the satisfaction of interest. Matter of fact, you didn’t even sit on the chair that was dubiously positioned before this room’s equivalent of the… judicial panel?

Satan gave you a neutral smile, one you returned with a close-mouthed sigh and a smile that widened when Asmo leaned in, shooting a small wink.

“Sorry I’m late!” A voice boomed, the doors swinging open to admit the life of the party.

Smile, gone.

“You’re not late, Diavolo. There were still two minutes left on the clock.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t change the fact that I kept you all waiting, didn’t I?” To you, “Please, have a seat!”

You surprised them all, including yourself, by saying, “I’d rather stand.”

Lucifer frowned. “Do you think that wise?” he said, very evenly.

You shrugged as you challenged, “Why not?”

There was a sudden tense silence that kept you rooted where you were, eyes shifting from him to Diavolo and back again. It was, in retrospect, a trivial act of mutiny. If the big boss got mad over this, then he wouldn’t even have bothered to show up.

“Suit yourself.” Diavolo smiled as he took his place, Barbatos giving you a cordial “Greetings” before shadowing his master.

“I hope you don’t mind me here. However, I asked Lucifer to join this intervention, since I have a responsibility to you as well. It’s apparent that this exchange program has been failing you. ”

No. _Really?_ You needed your anger to fuel the coals but you also needed cold calculation to get what you wanted by the plan. As if your thoughts reached him, Satan gave a cautious glare, reminding you: when dealing with demons, there was no such thing as a fair battle.

Nine demons versus you. The odds were never meant to be in your favour. Welp, let’s do this.

“That explanation isn't good enough.”

Mammon looked at you with frantic, pleading eyes. You could hear him screaming at you telepathically: _What are you saying? This is Diavolo, you idiot! Don’t_ deliberately _try to antagonize him!_

“Could you explain?”

“With these brothers, I get it. I need an intervention with _them_ since I live with them, have pacts with them. But you?” You spread your hands wide. “What can I _possibly_ do to _you?_ The all-powerful ruler who can obliterate me with a gesture? You and your minion can just pluck another ‘me’ from somewhere else if I step out of line.”

“It’s actually not that simple—” Barbatos muttered.

“But it is. Don’t talk semantics, I don’t know shit for magic and you know it.” You focused back on Diavolo. “I have nothing to say to you that won’t get me killed by Lucifer after. With five outta seven, I can command them _not_ to murder me.”

“Surely what you have to say isn’t that extreme,” the prince countered. “We will never know until we hear it.”

You refused the bait, shooting Lucifer a look of exultant disdain. That was what he got for trying to involve Diavolo into this.

“If I may, Lord Diavolo,” he raised his hand.

“What is it, Satan?”

“Unless what they say is a _direct_ challenge to the safety of the Devildom and can be unequivocally counted as treason, perhaps we can guarantee that there will be no outstanding repercussions for what is said in this room tonight.”

Lucifer gave his brother a bemused, piercing look. “What do you mean by that?”

“Look at them. With you and Lord Diavolo in the same room, there’s enough power to make all three realms shake. What human, moreso without any magical capability, would have the courage to communicate openly?”

Thanks, Satan.

“Not to mention that without open communication, no one’s going to be satisfied. Ooh, I propose that we create a safeword so we know when it’s too much for Lucifer and Lord Diavolo!”

“Sit down, Asmo.”

Diavolo faced you. “Then, by the terms Satan described, you are free to speak your mind without fear, so long as it doesn’t threaten the safety of the Devildom. That should be fine, right, Lucifer?”

“As… you wish. I see no qualms with that,” he answered with a tone that betrayed otherwise. If looks could burn your ashes would’ve been vaporized to absolutely nothing. “I trust that our exchange student wouldn’t misuse this opportunity to speak to start a revolt.”

A revolt! What a laugh. As if you were some disgruntled French peasant with no bread to eat. Still, you didn’t trust them. “Then, I invoke my pacts.”

_When you call a demon by their full name, they know they are under your will. Names have power, you see. Their shortened names are more than fanciful monikers. It’s a trick. Calling them by nicknames lessens the impact._

Mammon. Leviathan. Satan. Asmodeus. Beelzebub. “If any of the other demons attack me without me saying or doing something ‘treasonous’, I call on the five demons who made a pact with me.”

“You don’t need to call the pact for us to protect you!”

“Yeah, we’ll do that even without asking.”

Protect…? You shook your head. You swallowed, twice, before eking out your next words. The real part hadn’t even started yet. “Not that. If the other three—sorry, four—attack me, for **any** reason, my command is for any of you to reach me first…” you gripped the sleeves of your hoodie. “and give me a… a quick, painless death.”

Beelzebub found his small, broken voice first in the suddenly-cold room. “What?”

“Isn’t that a little too extreme?” Asmo tried to dissuade.

True, you were already second-guessing yourself. God, how melodramatic! If your ex-roommate heard you she’d be laughing on the floor. You had half a mind to laugh, too… focus, you dingus! You were getting distracted.

“Have you guys forgotten?” You brandished a hand from the left to the right corner. You would now acknowledge the rightmost demon. “You guys are ranked by power, aren’t you?”

“That’s—”

“If the _weakest_ demon of the council took me down like a chump,” you laughed with eyes wide open, “what should I expect from the eldest brother and the big-man boss lord?”

A small frown touched Diavolo’s features. Barbatos was following your words with alert interest, and the brothers… the last time you had seen such tense, unhappy faces was from a timeline that was no longer relevant to everyone but you.

Up to you to break the silence. “If I die, I just want it to be faster than the last time. You did say,” You gave Lucifer a mirthless smile, “that you were a sadist. Not one for the clean kill.”

“This is no joking matter,” Lucifer said slowly. “As Diavolo said, there is no more reason to fear for your life unless your intentions are threatening.”

“On the contrary, what better time to joke? Comedy’s not only just to laugh.” You trailed a thumb across your throat. “Make sure it’s fast. Don’t draw it out, just a snap, spinal cord and all—”

“Stop it.”

You scoffed like you hadn’t interrupted Mammon moments before. “Shove it. You already had **your** turn, demon.”

“I said stop!”

O-ho! Like yelling will silence you! “I’m not talking to you!”

“You keep pulling your death up, but it—it’s not gonna happen again! Don’t talk like my brothers will hurt you because they won’t!”

“Your _brothers,”_ you spat, “only did better than you because you set such a low bar!”

“That’ll do,” Diavolo stretched out his hand. “This entire conversation is academic in the off chance that you will, indeed, commit treason against the Devildom, which I know you won’t. I uphold my word: you will not be harmed by those grounds. Your pacts are your own as to command, but if we can go back to the main discussion?”

Lucifer, catching his look, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Belphie. You will get your chance to speak.”

“We're not getting off to the best of starts, are we?” Diavolo gave a rueful smile. “I expect everyone’s more on edge than anticipated, myself included.”

Why was he admitting it? You frowned.

“Does it surprise you? That I should be nervous about this intervention, or that I should own up to it?”

“Yes.” Deadpan.

He stroked his chin. “Our last conversation didn’t end well, largely due to my ignorance. Your welfare takes precedence as part of the exchange program I spearheaded between all the realms.” He leaned forward, producing an expression of sincerity. “Please, speak. The essence of this intervention is to make things better between you and the Devildom, is it not?”

You glared at the demon some more, feeling all eyes on you. Now you wished you did start an insurrection just so you could have an excuse. Well, you had the next best thing.

“You just want everything to be perfect.”

“It’s an ideal I strive to achieve, as the eventual ruler of the Demon realm, the president of RAD, and… as a friend.”

Not _your_ friend, at any rate. “I’m sure Lucifer appreciates all this very much.”

“I hope so, too.” Did this demon understand sarcasm at all? “But I would like to be on good terms with you, too. Perhaps friendship is a bit too much to ask for, considering what has happened…”

“You,” you pointed to the cause of your Devildom troubles. “Tell me what your original dream was for this exchange program.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, you’re not. If you are, it’s probably for all the wrong reasons. But whatever, not the answer I’m looking for.” You snapped your fingers impatiently. “Tell me the spiel you told me in the beginning. Better yet, tell me what you told them, the exact one that ended up with _that_ under house arrest.”

_Diavolo’s dream for angels, demons, and humans to recognize, accept, and respect one another. And to create a new world together…_

“…and to strengthen relations between all three realms is a key element to pave the way for that reality, however long it takes for it to be realized, to open the door to a new age.”

You tilted your head—and rolled it, your neck cracking as your joints stretched. “Respect… respect.” You toyed with the word until the meaning was lost to you. “So, after I was _respectfully_ dragged here, _respected_ with constant attempts on my life, and given the _respect_ of having my life torn apart, tell me… do you expect me to thank you? For all the **respect** given to me?”

“The exchange program served to bridge three unique worlds together. I confess, it was my oversight that your life was endangered, and I’m truly sorry you had to endure what you did. But this program was meant to broaden your experiences as well. Were there not moments that made your time here worthwhile?”

“No thanks to you,” you retorted. “You filthy hypocrite.”

“!” Your name had never sounded scary before. Must’ve been one of Lucifer’s talents, to make anything in his mouth raise the hackles.

“If you want to ‘create a new world’, you should’ve gotten someone like Solomon.” Your face twisted into a horrible mirror of a smile. “Someone who’d actually earn respect through their own abilities in this shithole, not someone who constantly has to cower behind some of the most incompetent demons I’ve seen who had to be stopped from killing me themselves.”

Several of the brothers stiffened at this.

“Tell them the real reason you brought me here.” Say it! “Tell them I was chosen to come here because you wanted me to fix every single problem that your precious Lucifer had with his family. That me being here had nothing to do with your worthless ‘dream’ and you thought Lilith’s blood would be the magical fix-all!”

You didn’t realize you had raised your voice until you heard it reverberate throughout the hall. Inhaling much-needed air, you stared up at him.

“I wanted you to be happy here, too,” he said, very evenly. “Lucifer and his family are important, yes. But you have earned your place in the Devildom, not as Lilith’s descendant—her lineage only gave you the starting foothold. Your own character and individuality are what shaped the current events, and it has set the path for future, non-magical students who are interested in coming here.”

“What kind of idiot would _want_ to come here?”

“You’d be surprised. We have quite the number of applications waitlisted for next year’s program.” He gave a small smile. “All of them willing volunteers.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re blaming us and Lilith for your mishaps.” Flint hardened gold eyes. “But you neglect to mention your own decisions that led you to the present. Or do you mean to suggest that everything so far, you were corralled into without any other choice?”

“Diavolo, if I may.”

“Go ahead, Lucifer.”

“I warned you not to go up the attic, did I not? Furthermore, demons cannot **force** a human into making a pact. Those were choices you made of your own volition. The pacts you made with my brothers, going back in time—no one forced you into doing these.”

They were your choices. You had to believe you did them because blaming your stupidity was better than believing Lilith somehow used her powers to sway you into doing all these things. “All the choices I made then, were they so terrible that I _deserved_ to die painfully and relive it constantly at night? And that I have to face him every day?”

You rolled up the sleeves of your hoodie as if you were about to catch a football. “I’ll be the first to admit it. I made some shitty choices here. But I wouldn’t even be ‘here’ if it weren’t for you demons and your plan. Did you expect me to take it all lying down?”

Spite moved you, gave you breath, and it would be your downfall. Was it the pacts that shifted in your torso or indigestion?

“I had heard you weren’t sleeping well.”

“Humans usually don’t after they’re kidnapped into a place where it’s easy for them to end up as demon food. A pity your RAD doesn’t teach that in class.”

You dared to interrupt whatever Diavolo was going to say. “You still didn’t tell me why you’re here.”

Diavolo folded his arms, solemn. “I have wronged you. I still need time to understand, but perhaps… you weren’t the ideal candidate for this exchange program at this early a stage. Despite this, I would like to take this opportunity to reach a conciliation with you. I do not want you to fester your grievances.

“Moreover, having a student passive-aggressive towards RAD will only foster dissent against like malcontents.”

You barked a laugh. “Passive? Which part? Tell me where I sounded passive so I can fix that.” You shifted your hood. “I can’t remember when I’ve been passive. Must’ve slipped my mind.”

You didn’t see Satan tilt his cup to hide his grin.

“Stand down, Barbatos,” he leaned forward on this throne. “I do not want a student who submits to me in silent loathing. If your respect is too much to ask for, then perhaps we can start with a gesture of goodwill.”

Skepticism was your second nature. What goodwill was left in you? “And if I refuse?”

Death, obviously.

Like any sane person, you feared death. But you weren’t quite so sane, were you? Death, PTSD, unhealed griefs, and the resentment you clung to made even the threat of your death seem like a sweet release as much as it was the one bargaining chip you had.

“Maybe… I should’ve just stayed dead. Or let him kill me again, for good.” You turned to look Belphegor in the eye, a blistering smile boring into his mind. “Sorry you missed your chance.”

“You misunderstand me,” Diavolo interrupted before the demon could respond, likely anticipating another quarrel. “The show of goodwill will be from my end. It is the least I can do in rebuilding your faith in us and the Devildom. Whatever will ease your mind, if deemed reasonable and in my power, I shall fulfill.”

Faith? In Hell?

You kept your gaze on him as you circled your desk before sitting atop the wood, using the back of the chair as a footrest. “Just to be clear, you’re going to grant me a wish? Like a genie?”

“Yeah! Like Ruri-Chan and the Wacky Adventures with Her Magic Lamp! It was an epic disaster of a crossover…” The rest of his words withering to an inaudible squeak, he lowered his head out of sight under Lucifer’s glare.

“Diavolo, there’s no need for you to do this. I will fulfill this task.”

“No, Lucifer,” he gave him an endearing look. “This is something I owe them, long overdue. I had thought to present it in timing with a celebration, but… perhaps there’s a smaller window of time for humans.”

A wish. Could you wish for infinite wishes? Probably not. Didn’t matter. You had already conceived your wish, the only tangible proof of it long since washed from unrecognizable bits of paper in the trash.

“I want a deal from you, Diavolo.”

Dead silence. Eh, you did forget the ‘Lord’ part, but that was the least of your concerns.

“You’re a very bold human, demanding a pact from Lord Diavolo himself,” Barbatos murmured.

“A pact?” You barked a harsh noise of contempt. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I make pacts with those I happen to like. No, I wasn’t going to ask for that. I want a promise, with all eight of these—” you waved your hand, “—demons standing witness.”

“A promise,” Diavolo repeated, intrigued. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Protect my family,” you held his gaze with unyielding defiance, “You will never lay a finger on any of them. None of your minions will hurt them, present and future.” You reviewed your mental notes; you couldn’t afford a single loophole.

“That includes all your demon slaves, every witch and sorcerer who thinks it’s a good idea to mess with them or drag them into this pit.”

“Is that really necessary—”

You cut Lucifer off. “I’m not done yet.” Back to Diavolo, “Next time you do another pet project, get yourself a human dumb enough to want to come here. That’s not my problem. But leave my family out of this—immediate relatives, my parents, my siblings, my friends.” You folded your arms, assertive and brazen. You earned this. “Keep them out of your business and make sure your lackeys do the same.”

Diavolo blinked. “That’s it?”

What did he expect you to demand, a tank? “That’s it,” you affirmed, steeling your gaze. “Then, I’ll play nice for the rest of this farce as long as one of your henchmen doesn’t try to kill me again.”

“Your terms are very vague. How many degrees of cousins and uncles will this protection extend to, if my lord would even deign to fulfill such a request? How many ‘friends’ of yours merit this?”

You bared your teeth into a feral grin towards Barbatos. “Considering how long you’ve been stalking my family, I think you’d know better than me.”

“Even so, bargaining on such loose terms with a demon puts you at a detriment.”

“Fine!” You sneered. “I’ll make a list, then. Looks like I have to do all the work around here.” Pettiness prompted you to mutter, “No idea how you managed to run this freak show before you dragged me in.”

Diavolo raised his hand in an unhurried gesture. “I accept this wish.”

When things came too easily around here, your first instinct was suspicion. “Swear it.” Man, if looks could kill—well, these _were_ demons. Of course they could kill. “Swear it in front of these brothers that they’ll never be abducted or harmed by your doing, and I get to go home after all… this.” You waved your hand around the area as disdainfully as possible.

“Lucifer, it’s all right.” Facing you, he gave a jovial smile. “The second part, there’s no need. I’ve already affirmed that you would go home safely after the exchange program is over. But everything else—you have my promise. I, Lord Diavolo, swear by your terms.”

There was no magical insignia that glowed behind him; as you had stated, this wasn’t a pact. But there was… something… that made your skin ripple, or an organ shifting to accommodate this new commitment. You felt it; he swore to it. You heaved a sharp exhale.

You didn’t thank him. Why should you?

Still, your head was noticeably lighter. You rubbed your eyes, rubbing out the gentle, soft thoughts of your people. _No demon would hurt them._

But you weren’t done yet. Principles and promises weren’t for peaceful times free of temptation. What worth did they have if these demons would violate them at their individual convenience, whenever their impulse demanded?

If you had learned anything you might take away from this, it was their depravity. Time to test.

“And you,” you wielded your finger like a gun, towards the oil that fanned your flames. “Say it out loud.”

It was your first conversation with him in front of the others. A special occasion; you should’ve baked a cake.

“Tell your brothers what you would’ve done if I had no relation to your Lilith.”

He took a jagged breath. So that’s what his face looked like when he was in pain. Sadistic joy lit up your features. Was this what he had felt?

“Don’t be shy. Hurry up!” You mocked. “Don’t be afraid to admit it. You did, after all, hate humans so much, so why _wouldn’t_ you have gutted me if I wasn’t Lilith’s child?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

 _Because everyone deserves to know who the real problem is._ “Why? Don’t pretend, demon.” _Call them by their full name. That’s how they know you wield power over them._ “ **Belphegor.** If you knew from the beginning, you wouldn’t have looked so happy killing me. If I wasn’t descended from her uterus, you wouldn’t try so hard to play nice with me after wringing my neck!”

To Diavolo, “You ought to be aware. He might rip out the next human’s throat for not being related to Lilith.”

“I said I’m sorry!” His eyes were shadow-smudged, scorching. “Can’t you see I’m trying?”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it!” You yelled right back. “You don’t get off with an apology after offing me, you menace!”

“What would you have me do? _What would you have me do??”_ He began with passion, and then stopped, fighting a brief battle with himself for control. “I already did what… what you asked. What can I do to earn back your trust?”

“Why should I give you all the answers?” Shit, he was deflecting you. “First, say it.”

“Say… what?”

“That I meant nothing to you until a one-in-a-million chance of Lilith was in the picture. That you give a damn to **not** kill me anymore because of her!” You slammed a hand on the desk, which only caused pain. “Admit it! Unlike your brothers, whose respect I earned from the start and wasn’t out of nepotism, you only care because of Lilith!”

“I… I didn’t mean—I wish I hadn’t meant it.”

“Belphie.” He saw his brother, close enough to see tears glistening on his lashes.

“Belphie, it’s…”

He was their brother. Killing someone didn’t change that or the love they had for this fucker. Empathizing with these muddled waters, catching despair on Beel’s face, you shook, you feared—you resolved. You… you’d rather be their enemy who hurt their family than be their doll. Your feelings screamed, begging to inflict mercy on those before you.

Crying or laughing were the only options left and laughing felt better right now. What showed on your face more, what expression did you wear that made them look at you with such distress and pity?

“How lucky you are,” you rasped, “to always have your brothers take your responsibility as their own. Just like what Lilith did, didn’t she?”

The temperature in the room plunged to zero in the span of seconds. Hostility burned but you had burned longer.

“Don’t… insult Lilith ever again,” he warned. “Anything about me… I’ll take it. I deserve it after everything I did. But don’t drag her name. That, I won’t forgive you.”

Beel frowned. _Again?_

“Your forgiveness,” you derided, “is worthless to me. And from what I learned, Lilith wasn’t blameless, either. Like I’ll put her on a pedestal just because you chose to.”

Now you really had his attention. “Mind your words _very_ carefully, human.”

“Everything about your Lilith,” she certainly didn’t belong to you, “comes down to memory. What, you think your Lilith was some sweet, innocent angel? Guess demons aren’t better in the memory department than us humans?”

Asmo buried his face into his hands. “Oh, this is going to end very bad…”

For a moment, you remembered your audience. Turning to Lucifer: “You weren’t wrong. I still think her sentence was overkill. But… theft? Assault? Permanent injury?” You twisted your lips. “And you call _me_ the troublemaker?”

“Do not presume to know the entire story.”

“Do you? Are your own memories superior? The truth is never precise regardless of where you are.” You snickered. “Do you remember everything she did or did you pick and choose to sleep better at night?”

“You overstep, human.”

“So did you.” You confronted Belphegor once more. “What I said before… I take it back. You and Lilith must’ve made quite the pair. Both of you are _so much alike.”_

It was tricky, walking the line between blatant offence and sarcasm. The others might hear your tone but wouldn’t know the full extent of the meaning in your words. His face was whiter than chalk.

“Still not going to admit it?” You provoked. “Will it help if I pretend to be Lilith?” Vitriol simulated a fanged smile. “Should I call you _Belphie~?”_

You saw Leviathan balk, saw Asmo come swiftly to his feet, saw Belphegor’s eyes narrow, go suddenly dark as you had seen before, only once.

“Never,” he ground out between the first flames of earnest rage, “call me like that ever again.”

Oh, you knew that you had stepped a line—but remember what Satan had said? You wouldn’t shrink back from your decisions. Not like this dickhead. “Then, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Fine. Everything else… I’ll… but you made a mistake.” His eyes glittered. Rising out of his chair, he peered at you with the glare of a scourge. “You should **never** have brought Lilith into this.”

This time, fear didn’t shut you down. It breathed into you, the key to your release, waking you up. You saw his menace, and your heart cried in anticipation. Good. Attack. Attack _attack_ ** _attack—stop this pain._**

“Mammon,” you flicked your wrist. “Avatar of Greed, I command my pact. Finish this.” Pointing to your throat. Out of the five, he was the fastest.

**_“NO!!”_ **

They needed to know. Even as everyone erupted into their true forms, as thrones toppled over and horns ruptured out from their heads. Black wings beat towards you as you gasped, muted by terror and erratic heart thrashing in your rib cage, trying to beat itself to death. You heard the sounds of breaking and shattering, but even so, you raised your head, daring to look into the dark.

They needed to know that you meant every word you had said, even in your worst vestiges of dread. Otherwise, how could they—no, _you_ —respect yourself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi people who read everything including the notes :D  
> Kinda tempted to end the story here with MC dead but I guess that would piss off more than a few  
> Updates are taking longer because I cram too many words (and spam ctrl+f like it's going outta style to make sure I'm not using the same word too much)  
> Also, I'm struggling through s2, anyone feel the same? I'm broke af and the cards won't power themselves  
> Thank you so much Forever for beta-reading \\(^o^)/


	12. Righteous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gonna do some jumps for this chapter (like I said I would back in Chapter 8)  
> Oh, shit, right, this is a summary. TL;DR MC gets better.

You were right.

**Snap.**

He _was_ the fastest and the pain was over before your slow human brain could even process it.

Before anyone fully realized the weight of your command, before the last brother completed his transformation, Mammon was hovering over you—sorry, your body—his palm still crackling with the residual power he had unleashed, involuntary as a cough.

It was still gripping your lopsided neck by the time his eyes lowered to meet your bulging, unseeing eyes.

He didn’t even have time to consider resisting before he hurtled through the distance between him and his human… he still felt as though he was still being catapulted through space; scarcely daring to believe the truth peering lifelessly below him.

It was a lie… it couldn’t have happened…

As his brothers flocked to him, Mammon realized his movements were his own again. What kept him paralyzed wasn’t by the bidding of a pact, but a shock that lurched over him, threatening to break away to something much worse.

Stupefied into a tenuous silence, the first strained whisper broke more than the hush.

“My Lord, I… I cannot bring them back.”

With heartbreakingly gentle hands, he repositioned his hand from the hateful neck, supporting their head. Holding them to his chest, the wreckage of emotions meshed the first thread of rational thought that became a stream:

Not again. _Not again._

The incriminating hand was hidden by their head, fingers woven in their hair. His power, so heavily restrained by his self-control, had failed him. No, not failed. The Great Mammon, lose control? This stupid, stupid human made him use his power. Oh, hell. Oh, Diavolo. Oh, all the unredeemed spirits and beings above and below, why.

Diavolo turned to his left. “Barbatos?”

Huddled around the ebb and flow of denial and devastation, your eyes remained glassy and heedless to the gentle ministrations that were too little, too late. Excess saliva glistened at the corner of a half-open mouth; Asmo wiped it away with gentle fingers, his other hand enclosed around rapidly cooling fingers attached to a slack wrist.

“Hey. Hey, don’t do this… you’re okay. No one will hurt you anymore. No one will hurt your family. You’re okay… darling…” Your name came in short bursts as he stared into those vacant eyes, something tearing his own. As if his powers of ocular charm would work on you now.

Satan, who couldn’t bear to watch and more familiar with the pragmatic aspects of disaster, turned to Barbatos. “Why? What’s stopping you?”

Mammon cradled the corpse, unable to hide the quivering of his shoulders. He was the first to revert away from his demonic form if only to hold you closer. He didn’t like Asmo holding onto what was left of you with a hand nowhere near as steady as his voice, he didn’t want to see Levi’s look of frozen horror. And Beel…

“I cannot,” there was on his face, Satan thought, the surprised look of a traveller walking a familiar path and encountering a roadblock least expected. “The crossroads of dimensions, they forbid me from choosing a different reality.”

“There has to be some way! You brought them back before, once!” Levi, still in demon form, swung around so hard his tail almost knocked over his brothers. “An alternate timeline, maybe, or you can go back into the past and stop this…!” He gestured wildly. “There has to be a way if so many anime and movies are made from it! Yore Name, A Wrangle in Time—you have to have a Turdis, better than Dr. Whom! Don’t tell us this is a fixed point or it’d warp the cosmic strings!”

It was the most Leviathan had ever said that, despite not making an ounce of sense to the others, weighed heavy in the air.

Yet Barbatos focused a ball of light in his palm, waving over it twice before it fizzled out of existence, leaving its caster truly stumped. “This time, I cannot. Forgive me, my lord.”

“Why?” was the first word that Beelzebub was fully conscious of speaking, adding volume to the rending question. _“WHY??”_

“Beel.” Drawing strength from the deepest parts of his core, Lucifer reached out, grasped his younger brother. “Do not… Barbatos wouldn’t lie.”

“Indeed, he’s not lying,” his master seconded with resignation. “It seems—is it because of the pact?”

“Yes, my lord.” His composure was replaced by the first lines of worry; he still seemed to be trying… something. “I had assumed I had anticipated all possible outcomes for this event. I hadn’t foreseen that the human would—” he stopped himself; there were no excuses. “I have failed you, my lord.”

There was a Satan who’d once have been fascinated by such a restless display, so unbefitting of Barbatos. That was long ago, part of the life lived before he had entered as a witness to this monstrosity. Now he stared at Diavolo, even turning to Lucifer, the insufferable firstborn who always had a plan, a layered scheme that could—

“What about the pact?” Beelzebub had storms in his eyes, unstable energy that could give way to open warfare at the tiniest slip. “You brought them back before. Why can’t you do it again?”

“The order of their pact was explicit.” Barbatos edged closer to his lord, ready to protect him should the need arise. “What they have commanded… I cannot undo or select another self from a different timeline if it means negating a pact made with an extremely powerful demon.”

“Why not?!”

“Because a pact is strictly between the demon and their holder. I cannot interfere with how a pact is used, Asmodeus. The Demon Law is very clear on this. You know as well as I that I, too, am beholden unto the laws of the Devildom. Even my powers, expansive as they are, cannot violate these restrictions.”

To Diavolo, “I had not been prepared for them to use their pact in such a way. I will accept any punishment you see fit.”

“It’s not your fault, Barbatos. None of us had seen it coming…” The prince looked, for the first time in Beel’s memory, defeated. “And to think we cannot reverse this… it’s a shame. Truly a shame.” The two looked on.

They—he—was sinking into an old nightmare, all of them. For an instant, he was reaching towards Lilith, the maimed Celestial plummeting down, down, down, riddled with arrows and forever beyond his reach, Belphegor crying beside him. In reality, he was gazing at the body curled in shaking arms, violet blooming across stiff skin, mingling into a crimson-stained hoodie.

He was still calling their name long after he realized that wherever they were, he couldn’t call them back.

The hair slanting across his forehead was the shade of spun gold; the eyes meeting Lucifer's own were a brilliant blue-green and had in them the stunned uncomprehending look of a child. His knowledge, his books; what did they mean if he couldn’t use them in this?

“There has to be a loophole,” Satan muttered. “There has to be. Something… something that can make a reversal possible.” His head snapped up, taut with sudden hope. “The pact was to be used only if—if the other four attacked them. Belphie, when you—”

Of course, Asmo caught on the fastest. “That can work, right? Maybe they were too hasty, didn’t realize that Belphie wasn’t going to actually attack them… right, Belphie? If you didn’t mean to harm them, just to scare them, then… their pact was incorrect. Right? Then… it can be reversed.” And with that, he drew a strangled breath that threatened to become a sob, but somehow he fought it back, stared at Belphegor.

“Belphie… it can be reversed!” Beel repeated, almost as if he expected his twin to affirm, to assure him that was a real possibility.

He held his breath, awaiting Belphie’s response. He soon saw he was not going to reassure him with a hopeful confession, nor was he going to make any consoling denials. They had never seen Belphegor at such a loss for words before, never had he looked at them as he did now, not since the Great War.

There was wretched anguish in the youngest demon’s eyes and his brothers knew suddenly that there was nothing they could do, their sorrow all the heavier for that cruel spark of imaginary hope.

“Mammon…”

He was your first. He had protected you. He argued, he bossed, he complained, but he protected you. Did you know the emotions he hid so well, how they had crushed him when he held your death for the first time, a broken and bloodied indication of his failed promises? Did you hear his silent vow to never let that happen again while he lived?

The glazed eyes denounced his inadequacy once more, eyes he couldn’t bear to touch because if he closed them he’d never see them again and then he’d forget what they ever looked like; that’s how stupid he was, after all.

“I don’t believe it…” A human had outsmarted them all.

“Diavolo, I…” Lucifer almost buckled. The fallen angel who would never again bow before his Father, the Almighty, now staggered amongst pieces of his pride. “Forgive me,” he pleaded. “Forgive me.”

The look of sheer supplication on the Avatar of Pride moved Diavolo like none other. By his Father, the Great Demon King, what had he done? He had—all he had wanted was to help. Was this why the humans said the road to Hell was paved with good intentions?

Meanwhile, in this torrent of fresh grief that finally brought these ageless creatures a fraction closer to what their human companion had endured, where was the lastborn? Why, there he was—among them in body, but mind a countless distance apart in everything else. His body moved almost of its own accord, reaching out to do… what?

“Stay _away.”_

A muffled grunt, and with a blast of power, he found himself sprawled atop fractured furniture. He put a hand on his side, saw with incurious eyes that it came away sticky. Several just… looked at him. Except Mammon, who jerked his head towards Asmo, who gently took his burden, allowing the elder to rise and face Belphegor at long last.

Belphegor could hear him breathing, his own equally laboured. The eyes that were always kindled with foolishness and hilarity were now burning to his core, awash in tears. As he watched, they broke free, streaking his face, splashing silently upon the lapel of his jacket. He blinked but made no attempt to wipe them away, unfurling his wings.

“Yer not going to lay a finger on them anymore. Not while I live.”

Greed’s voice held no tears, offering no understanding or absolution, only a lifetime of brotherhood denied.

“Ya happy now, Belphie? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!”

Wings unfolded, flapped with incredible speed, the speed he was so proud of, the speed that had led him to commit the worst atrocity he never thought could happen. The self-restraint that had earned him Lucifer’s trust to care for his human meant worse than garbage as his hands encircled Belphegor’s throat, constructing his personal hell of recrimination and accusation, saying terrible, terrible things until the words blurred into senseless roars.

_“Mammon!”_

He wasn’t sure if it’d actually kill him. He’d never get to know for certain. He felt Beel’s arms around him, pulling him back with a force he knew wasn’t his strongest. Lucifer’s feathered wings beat near his face, only desperation in his voice as he pleaded for him to stop.

As if the second-born could be stopped by more than that.

“Lemme go! Lemme go, dammit!” He lunged for Belphegor, over and over again as Lucifer grabbed him, his grip growing stronger. Leviathan, who proved to be both the bane of Mammon’s existence and his most steadfast ally, clung to his older brother with surprising strength.

This was the part where Satan had to drag Belphie away. The one demon who wasn’t holding Mammon back was now crying unashamedly, kissing a dulled cheek and stroking brittle hair as he nuzzled a rigid husk in his arms.

“You’re cruel to the end, dearest… is this punishment for all we’ve done to you?”

What jarred Satan most was the sound he heard next: a heart-wrenching sob that preluded a soul-numbing scream. Mammon, finally wrested away from his youngest brother, offered no resistance as he began to cry without restraint. They could hear what was left of his heart shatter in that scream and the rattling, unstrung, convulsive gasps that would haunt each of them.

Running over to Asmo, Satan forced himself to look into the face, the eyes nothing more than glassy surfaces dotted with their faces that they couldn’t see. Ah, so there was more to him than wrath…

“Satan?”

“I… I didn’t think I’d…” He struggled with his words, pulling out a difficult truth. “Because of my origin, I… didn’t think I had a heart like you.”

A hand touched his face.

“But I know I… have a heart now.”

He sniffled. “Because of them?”

“Yes. Because now…” he took a small breath. “…I feel it breaking.”

“My lord…” Barbatos was left at a loss and, in the nature of the servile, turned to his higher power for guidance. “What… what do we do now?”

Getting no answer in return, he turned to face his master, stifled his shock upon seeing moisture gleam, tremble, and trail down a worn visage as he bore witness to Lucifer breaking down for the second time since eternity.

“My lord!”

“I have… made a grave mistake, Barbatos.” The prince lightly touched his face, stared at the wetness that came off with deadened interest. “Perhaps I was too hasty. I had thought this a perfect opportunity… look what my mistake has wrought upon them.”

He watched, fought to hide his own pain as he moved forward to raise Lucifer to his feet. As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice what was left of the human, how small they looked in the demons’ arms, and for the first time, realized how desperate they must’ve been. Things couldn’t get any worse now.

“Barbatos, have this wreckage cleared. Check the—”

The doors creaked open, granting cautious admission to a cherubic boot and prudent voices.

“Luke, I really think we should wait outside. Solomon said they had a meeting with—”

Simeon made a halfhearted attempt to reel in his charge, but once again Luke’s light-footed agility proved to be a telling advantage as the boy slipped through the angel’s restricting arms and skipped into the council room.

“Huh…?” This wasn’t the Council Room he remembered. Barbatos told him that this was the one room where he personally oversaw its upkeep because his master used it so often. So what were these upturned chairs strewn amongst unidentifiable rubble? How could everything be so loud when he didn’t hear a peep outside? And then he saw.

“Luke!” His tone was sharp. “Lord Diavolo, I apologize, he insisted on… I…”

Never-fucking-mind. Things could _always_ get worse.

Luke stuttered, sounds of nausea and terror escaping his lips. His grasp reflex failed him, white cloth slipping off as the basket of handmade strawberry shortcake tumbled over.

**_!!!_ **

His scream was different. Pure, if that made sense. As blood-curdling as it was, its source held no accountability for the grisly scene before him.

Simeon’s nerves had never failed him, nor would they now. Knowing that it was too late and the sight of the slaughtered lamb would linger within his protégé, he rushed forward, enfolding him into his cloak. Tucking in his head so he wouldn’t have to meet the others’ eyes, he bumped blindly into a broken chair rail. God forgive him, he should have seen, should have realized something, anything.

It was madness; how else to explain the slain flesh that, only just the day before, had housed a spirited soul and warm arms that had embraced him? What of the courage and humanity that shone through the vicious bluster that melted like butter around Luke’s presence?

Luke, who had insisted they visit before class, a request he had granted too late...

“Luke, no!”

They had promised Michael; to reveal their Celestial forms in Devildom would declare open warfare. When he saw the first ring of Divine Fury on his quaking back, Simeon at last regained some sense of reality. There was already enough loss; he wouldn’t see another happen.

“We promised Michael!” He whispered into the boy’s ear.

Luke gasped, voice eroding to a croak. “ᴵ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ᶦᵗ.”

Disbelief struck him as much as it had Simeon and the demons who long surpassed the childlike angel in age and experience. By the blessed adaptability of the very young, such incredulity was not dwelled upon for long, and the childlike angel flung himself into the bloodied and swollen action of the moment.

“You bloodthirsty savages! You monstrous— _shitty_ —I knew this would happen!” Luke bawled, his hand clutching Simeon’s forearm, clenched into a defiant fist. “All of you—their blood is on your hands! You killed them just like I knew you demons would!” Snot and tears striped his face, splotched with colour as he struggled to vocalize his passion. _“Non est vestrum erit flagitium—”_

His voice broke on a sob. Simeon, who said nothing to endorse or rebuke his charge, gathered up in his arms both angel and basket. He didn’t look at the demon who had welcomed him to RAD, nor the demons he had once considered his kindred. He didn’t look at any fixed point in particular.

His face. Where was your incorrigible equanimity, brother? There were too many emotions that flashed across his face for Lucifer to decipher them all, but enough.

No one could offer comfort, only share and lash out in this agony that engulfed them all. Simeon, shifting his grip so that Luke might cry freely under the solace of his mantle, gave the body whose inhabitant had long since left an inscrutable look before making a swift departure.

The person they had come for wasn’t there anymore.

Your corpse was starting to smell. You might’ve been annoyed at the slow-spreading brown on the crotch of your jeans; they had been a gift. And yet they clung to you, the brothers who could, knowing how futile it was.

Belphegor came to an uncertain stop. He couldn’t bring himself to approach his brothers, to try to offer them comfort he knew he had no right to give. But he couldn’t bear the sounds his brother—his _twin_ —was making, gasping, strangled sobs that shook the entire body.

He stood irresolute, drying his own tears with the back of his hand.

Lucifer stood in the blackened ruin of his ambitions. A dead prayer resurfaced behind his eyes, taunting him with the one phrase he could never forget as he had fallen from grace, now resurging in blasphemous glee with those same words his pride would never condone.

**Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa…***

* * *

All exchange students of RAD were granted two weeks’ worth of vacation where they were allowed to travel back to their home realms for a temporary reprieve if they so wished.

In unrelated news, both Purgatory Hall and the House of Lamentation had started to live up to their names.

“What of… the body, my lord?”

Despite the council’s best efforts, Barbatos was right: rumours abounded, lighting from one demon to the next, that the newest human exchange student had a falling out with Lord Diavolo himself. In an attempt to save face, he had banished the troublesome human back to their realm.

After all, they were the only one who had taken upon this so-called ‘vacation’.

Which meant, somewhere in the human realm, a world already plentiful of mouthwatering morsels, there was a soul that bore the pacts of five without said soul being consigned to any demon. Such inconsequential pacts only added spice to such a promising meal.

And if the soul had no magical powers to defend itself—the fatal fruit of Eden couldn’t have been more tantalizing.

“I want an eye on the portal near the third layer on the Island of Veils. Some demons are trying to get the Witches of Abruptum to sneak them over.”

“I have already dispatched Beelzebub. It’s under his jurisdiction; he’s expected to come back with the results within the week.”

“Thank you, Lucifer.”

He didn’t respond, having already moved to the next stack of paperwork. The way he was tearing through them, completely absorbed by the text in each sheet before writing postscripts and notes on the margins, finishing off with his signature before placing it aside—he was giving the task his undivided attention, but he was somewhere far away.

Diavolo heaved a sigh but didn’t press. The gilt eyes that earned him both admiration and awe were lined with worry for his friend, more so than the current tangle of affairs that he was now tasked with. Forms to fill out, additional regulations to reduce similar losses. None of these administrative measures were necessary for Solomon because his humanity was little more than a technicality.

Belatedly he turned to his steward; he had almost forgotten the question. “Why, is it—has the—are there any changes?”

“No,” Lucifer answered, shoving another pile of signed documents into a colour-coded portfolio. “If there is, I will let you know at once.”

“Lucifer.”

“Yes, Diavolo.”

“You haven’t taken a break since we’ve started. Would you like to take a walk? Some Demonus, perhaps?”

“I’m all right.” Gloved hands reached out for the next. “These must be reviewed immediately if we want to enact the Mortal Aegis Legislation within the academy this month. It already has the rest of the council members’ seals of approval. That should expedite the procedure.”

Through the clutter strewn about on the desk, his D.D.D. always remained at the top. He never let it get lost in the sea of papers, the screen always black and unresponsive.

“Lucifer.”

He looked up. The skin was stretched tightly across the high, hollowed cheekbones; there were smudges under the deep-set dark eyes, mouth frozen in a taut curve.

“I’ll… take a break after finishing this.”

“You said that twenty reports ago.” A ghost of a smile flickered as he accepted a cup from Barbatos. “Just one drink, my friend. Please.”

It was a friend’s request, not a royal order. Lucifer raised his pen before his arm dropped. All of these efforts would serve towards creating a better exchange program that would properly safeguard its participants. Why wasn’t all of this done for the one student that would never enjoy its benefits?

Why wasn’t he fast enough?

Your face had crinkled in annoyance when he told you about Diavolo’s party. This had gladdened him, in truth; it meant that you had no idea what he had planned for you. After everything he and his brothers put you through, a celebration of thanksgiving in your honour would’ve made the perfect amends. He’d see you smile and feel pride knowing he had done what was right.

Who knew you had your own agenda?

That was what he wanted to think, that you had planned this from the very beginning and to not leave a single trace of your spite behind.

But there was nothing. No scathing remark left on a notebook page or anything that would have betrayed you. He didn’t think to be thwarted like this.

“I’m sorry for letting you down.”

Diavolo shook his head, pouring the wine himself. “Please don’t say that. All of this can rightly be called my fault.”

“When I swore allegiance to you—”

They had this discussion so many times, yet it wound as fresh as if it were the first. “Come, I want to show you what I’ve been reading.”

“What is it?”

“I borrowed it from Satan. His store of books seems to outdo the RAD library sometimes.” 

_The Luciferian Effect._ “I hope it wasn’t written by someone of the Celestial Realm.” Dryly.

“Haha! No, it was written by a human.” A sly grin. “You are still much alluded to in the human realm, after all. I hope you don’t take it personally.”

“I’ve had several millennia to get used to it. Satan’s the one who gets irritated at the lack of distinction between our identities.”

The interlude of levity was too brief as he skimmed the pages.

“This is… this is ridiculous. We didn’t put them in such barbaric conditions as this, nor did we put them in a _prison.”_

Signalling to Barbatos, Diavolo interlocked his fingers. “I know.”

“They were alive and safe. I made sure of that, except when I…”

“I know that as well.”

With an effort, he bit back a sharp retort. Diavolo was, at one and the same, the boldest demon Lucifer had ever known and the most exasperating, too, and nothing exasperated him so much as the sense of humour he found to be unpredictable and more often than not, incomprehensible.

“But do you see, Lucifer?” Diavolo tilted back a second cup. “Both of us are the most powerful demons in the Devildom… after my lord father, of course.” A different light settled in his eyes, one Lucifer couldn’t remember ever seeing. “A prince’s duty is to further the prosperity of his kingdom, to attend to even the humblest of my subjects. Yet I couldn’t even assist a single human… don’t you find that so very odd? They had no power, none at all. Yet… I couldn’t see it. Until they realized… their power was in their life. How strange it feels,” he winced, seeing a memory rewind in his mind's eye, “to be powerless.”

“Diavolo!”

“My lord, the fault is also mine.” Barbatos set down the bottle. “I didn’t anticipate enough possibilities to consider their action, and… it was also my desire that they change reality so that Lucifer’s family remained unbroken.”

Lucifer flipped through the book again.

_Even a condemned prisoner back home—_

“If this is what they chose to regain ‘power’, it was very foolish.” Lucifer raised a hand to his face. “We did not force them into this decision.”

There wasn’t nearly enough conviction in his words to make it sound convincing, even to himself. He thought back over his relationship to you, began to comprehend that if you had failed him like this, it might be because he had so often failed you.

“If I may speak freely, Lucifer, perhaps this was the only choice they thought they had. When they commanded Mammon to… there was no hesitation. None in the slightest. My lord can confirm this.”

He remembered the first meeting, his need to fulfill Diavolo’s request over the human’s concerns, how enraged he was at the prospect of his brothers turning to you, pact by pact. He remembered the dance, the mausoleum, how he had sought to intimidate you from his brothers, with Solomon and Diavolo having to personally intercede on your behalf. With a flush of shame, he remembered how indifferent he had been to your fears, impatient with your lingering grief and rage, before leaving it to his brothers to make you more tractable.

He tried to say this, but the words wouldn't come. The one who needed to hear this the most was long gone.

“I’ll have that drink now.” This time he took it from Barbatos, not yielding until his eyes began to smart and his head to swim. When he set the flagon down, he began to search for words, speaking your name in a halting voice.

* * *

“I’m gonna crash here for a bit.”

“Go away.”

“Shut up, I’m staying here. Deal with it.”

He scowled, but ‘dealt with it’ by turning back to his game. It was a wonder he could still play; discarded wrappers, empty boxes, and packing peanuts littered the floor, some games still in their packaging. Mammon could barely see the floor. At least Henry seemed well-fed.

“You’d better not try to steal any of my games.” He didn’t take his eyes off the screen. Only the furious hammering of his fingers differentiated him from a sitting statue. “I spent a fortune on them.”

_You know, my brother used to steal from me, too._

“Did you hear me, stupid Mammon? If you touch even a single figurine, I’ll… oh! Ohh! I need that power weapon! I’m coming for you, you stupid bugs!”

**Resume Checkpoint?**

“Sorry bro, I’m not in co-op mode. Nothing like a good solo gorefest to get the grind on.”

“What is this?” Holding up the game case. “Shears of War 2?”

“Yeah, I’m helping this side character find his wife. At least in a game, I always get to save everyone. Because I’m the hero.”

He was awfully close. Levi shrugged. He had racked up enough kills and he was nearing the checkpoint; the cutscene was coming up soon. “What?”

“I wanna watch.”

_Trust me, Mammon, in the human world, if you have siblings within six years of your age, you have that raw experience of primitive rage where you just pummel the shit out of each other because there aren’t any bargains between man and beast._

“Then stop looking over my shoulder! I know you’re trying to stash my games into your pocket!”

_Finish this._

His fingers stiffened, went rigid. It hadn’t mattered that Lucifer had assured him, countless times, that it wasn’t his fault. The human had forced him. A pact’s order couldn’t be refused, any more than he could hope to become an angel again. Curiously, none of his other brothers accused him of it. They accepted… the same way they had accepted Belphie.

He had no reason to feel guilty. Under the circumstances, none at all. So why, then, did their words continue to haunt him? Because they had used him, the same way they were used? Was this revenge, that he’d never be able to wash off the sensation of the soft flesh yielding under his forced grip, the crunch of feeble bone?

Why did they want this? The human was supposed to let him _save_ them, not… not this!

_But maybe this was the only way they could save themself from you._

**Error. Mary could not be saved. End her suffering with a bullet through her heart.**

All the while, he struggled to make himself believe that you were truly dead and with his own world in such turmoil, grief, fear, and an embittered, illogical anger merged in his mind until they were unrecognizable from the other.

“This isn’t fair!” Levi slammed down his console in frustration, tears welling in his eyes. “We went through all that just to save her! And now you’re saying we can’t?! He’s been searching for Mary and it’s supposed to be a happy reunion! It’s a shooter game, it’s not supposed to make me cry! I’m supposed to win!”

Mammon’s eyes flicked towards the scene, then away, to the one who might help expend the energy he needed to lose before he lost his damn mind.

“It’s just not fair!”

 _He steals from you? Ha, just like mine! He’s lucky he’s not_ my _brother._

“Shut the fuck up!” He grabbed Levi’s collar, pinning him against the wall. “That’s how it works, okay?!”

Rage contorted his mouth. “Let **go** of me, you stupid, good-for-nothing, worthless—”

“It ain’t fair, Levi! This whole thing ain’t fair!” Mammon shook him with the force of his hold. “Doesn’t matter if you speedrun the whole goddamn thing, you’ll never save her! Because that’s just how it is! Stop whinin’ about it and jus’…”

Just what, accept it? Move on? Whatever words he wanted to say next, they wouldn’t come; Leviathan wouldn’t hear it.

“It **isn’t** fair!” Henry swam into his little castle as his owner’s tail lashed out, knocking aside his controllers and games before wrapping around a bared torso. “You got to do something with them! You and Asmo got to see them smile! And what does the otaku get? So much for being a ‘true friend’, that’s what! They died thinking I didn’t care and it’s not fair!”

“Then they should’ve used _your_ pact! Y’already tried to kill them once, how hard would’ve it been for ya?”

_At least you don’t lie about stealing. That’s what I can’t stand the most: liars. You’re hopeless, Mammon, but you’re not a liar. That’s what I like about you. Now, if you were a bit more honest…_

“It _wasn’t_ me, though, was it? It was you!” Something was lodged in his throat, the words came out muffled. “You did it because no one else would’ve been fast enough to stop you! Henry would’ve made it, but no, I’m—”

**I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mary.**

* * *

“How was The Fall?”

“Sticky.” Tossing the towel, he uncorked an orange vial. “How do I look?”

Satan made a face. “Like you stepped out of a porno. Don’t come near me, I can still smell the sex.”

He shrugged. “You wouldn’t be so crabby if you had just listened and came with me. Don’t you like what you see?”

Satan groaned. “I don’t _want_ to see all those bite marks, hickeys, and… whatever _that_ is. Put on a shirt already!”

“Hmph! I took a shower, and you’re the one who came over to my room.”

“Okay, I can’t take this smell. You know I hate lavender.”

“It’s one of my best oils. You know, if you take off your shirt, I can give you a massage. You look like you can use some pampering. I’ll even throw in a happy ending, just for you.”

“No. Don’t be disgusting.”

“Suit yourself.”

A chill wind whipped across the Devildom, slamming the windows and sending seedpods skittering across the outside grounds. “Anyways, here’s what you wanted. It’s rare for you to ask for these kinds of books.”

“Unthinkable, isn’t it?” His brother agreed too readily. “I still can’t believe it. Unthinkable. They seemed so happy…”

If there was one thing Satan appreciated in his rakehell of a brother, it was his straightforward lack of inhibitions. Even demons grew skittish upon the topic of death, and Satan knew better than to stoke the wrath of his brothers by prodding a hurt that continued to bleed. But Asmodeus had no such anger; he seemed eager, even, to talk about it.

“I heard that you and Mammon… did good to them.” He wore the sweater he didn’t think to get back like this. Some humans believed a piece of their soul resided in the fleeting realm of breath and scent. He had thought it daft until the dreams had started.

“I was so mad they thought of it first.” He shook his head. “It was such a romantic idea, flying through the stars.”

Satan, at least, had been spared the graphic nightmares of Lilith that had plagued his brothers in varying duration after the war. Even his sleep was guarded, and he had never voiced a single complaint at having his own slumber disrupted night after night. Apart from murky recollections of an angel he had never gotten to know as personally as the others, he had often wondered if his creation rendered him incapable of dreaming anything other than rage.

Now that he had his answer, he wished he hadn’t wondered.

It was cruel to wake up in the middle of the night with thoughts that couldn’t be crowded out by his books because they smelled like citrus. Almost as cruel as what drove you to… do what you did. He had cared about you, you who had been genuine with your every emotion, you who had been kinder to him than he had ever deserved.

For weeks, he dreamed about seeing you in the hallway at school and he would call out your name. You would look back over your shoulder, smile, and keep walking.

_You taught me to feel more than rage._

He should’ve demanded your soul when he made a pact with you. Then you would’ve at least stayed with him instead of eluding his grasp before he could breathe you in. He tormented himself—was there anything he could have done?

“Asmo.”

“Hm-mmm?” A cold spoon covered one eye. And he could still see through his bangs? “If you keep staying here, I might get ideas.”

“Does it help?” An idle hand picked up the book. Everyone was coming to him for human literature as if he had enough to lend. “Indulging in your sin.”

He lowered the spoon, revealing discoloured skin. The puffiness was almost completely gone. The idiot still made no attempt to wear a shirt.

“In the moment,” he answered, eyes clouding as the smile lingered. “But I like to think it helps better than to do nothing. Why?” His smile revealed pointed fangs. “Do you disapprove, brother?”

“Hardly. Far be it from me to tell you how to deal with—” he caught himself in time. “Well, you seem to be dealing with it better than some. I somewhat envy you for that.”

“Envy? Dangerous of you to be indulging in a sin that isn’t yours, Satan.”

He cleared his throat. “With our elder brothers partaking in their rage, some quid pro quo is in order.”

“And yet you never partake in my sphere.” A sigh of faux disaffection.

“Neither do you, for mine.”

“Why? Because I don’t show it as openly as Mammon?” Bitter derision crept into the voice like red ink. “Here I thought you knew me better. I’m disappointed.”

His laugh crackled as he wound an arm around his brother’s shoulders. Satan didn't know how to give comfort, though, only how to share hurt. As for Asmodeus, he was instinctively inclined to make a physical response to an emotional need. Truly, they were slaves to their vices.

His D.D.D. beeped. No one messaged unless it concerned their active duties. In a way, it helped. Satan hated to take a leaf out of Lucifer’s book but burying their grief in work was an effective measure. It was also one of the few ways he got to indulge _his_ sin without any concern for the aftermath.

**< The House of Lamentation (New)(7)**

**Lucifer**

_Beel. Are you still on the Island of Veils?_

**Beelzebub**

_No. I cleared out the cultists. Heading back to Lamentation tonight._

_But they’re more widespread than I thought. Got a trail, they might be in the other layers of Devildom._

_I intercepted a message._

**Leviathan**

_Ever since the rumours, every demon’s trying to make their way to the human world._

**Lucifer**

_If they found out the truth, the entire Devildom will be in an uproar and the exchange program is as good as finished._

_Within a few days, it should die down._

_Beel, the message?_

**Beelzebub**

_Something about backup in the Stygian Marsh before the letter exploded on me._

_Guess they’re trying harder this time._

**Mammon**

_I’ll go. I’ll show them. I’ll get them all._

_No. I’m going._

_If it’s the Stygian Marsh, that’s in the fifth layer. Seems like my vassals have forgotten their master._

_I will punish them. Don’t get in my way._

“You want to come?”

Asmo swiped at his sunken eyes, nodded. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“I’m not taking you anywhere until you put on a shirt.”

“You say that like I won’t be carrying you there.”

* * *

_They wouldn’t want to be in a place like this! You know how they felt, being compared to her!_

Over their bitter protests, Lucifer had your body moved to the underground tomb. The brothers’ words did, however, affect him such that he placed you in the furthermost chamber, away from Lilith’s memory and the dead of his House.

It was meant to be a temporary location. It was a sensible choice compared to, let’s say, your room. Cerberus provided ample protection and perhaps this arrangement wouldn’t have displeased you; it was isolated enough that you wouldn’t be disturbed.

Lucifer didn’t want his brothers to visit you, but it wasn’t an order he could bring himself to cast. If one insisted upon going, he would accompany them to stay the jaws of his faithful hound.

It was the ultimate jest of irony, Barbatos thought, that the demons’ collective willingness to learn human customs, to understand humans better, his master’s ultimate dream, was fulfilled after the human disappeared, effectively teaching them more than they had when they lived.

Old as he was, he wasn’t so old to not feel a grim sort of amusement as Diavolo struggled to weave a wreath to place over their tomb.

Death suited you. It touched what earthly beauty you once had, bringing out a purity of outline never seen before—or maybe it was what they convinced themselves of amongst the ocean of regret they struggled not to drown in.

Lucifer said nothing as Mammon’s muffled howls resounded through the tiny chamber, gave his brother a wretched look when his back was turned to smack your coffin with clusters of flowers because you hated Calla Lilies and he hated you for not trying to save yourself.

It took the third visit for Leviathan to really say anything, and he said it so quietly that Lucifer couldn’t hear. He hardly left his room anymore. When Mammon purchased a ‘memorial tablet’ from Akuzon to place in front of your casket, less than a day after, the first “offering” was a rare-edition angel-skin Ruri-chan figurine.

The second one was a Devil Crossing game console because you had said it was one of your favourite games here.

“We… didn’t give them the best welcome, did we?”

“At least you never tried to hurt them, Asmo.” Satan shook his head.

Celestial Fairy Ruri-chan was surrounded by roses, a copy of _The Picture of Durian Grey_ , sandalwood incense, your music player, and a lizard tail. Asmo would’ve brought more flowers if Lucifer didn’t stop him, citing them as a fire hazard.

Why was it so much harder to mourn and let go of you than Lilith?

Beel couldn’t sleep in his bed without seeing you in it, defenceless and limp. First, Luke. Second, Belphie. Third… just you. Whether he lay on the couch or with his twin, you and Lilith haunted his nightmares—the similarities tormenting him as he was forced to watch the both of you die over and over.

“Beel, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

“She was trying to tell me something…”

“I know.”

“I tried to catch her… I wanted to save her too, Belphie. I swear, I did!”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I caught her this time, but then it’s not… it’s not her anymore. It’s _them…_ and I caught them by the neck.” He made no attempt to stem the tide, unable to hold back. “I could’ve stopped them. I should’ve!”

He stared at his brother as he wept, putting his arm around his shoulders. Beelzebub was in his arms, clinging in a desperate awkward embrace, his face damp against Belphegor’s neck, all the heartbreak spilling out in a scalding surge, beyond his control.

“Why them? Why, Belphie? They were… so brave. They were loud, not like Mammon, and strong, stronger than me. Sometimes I forgot that they were only human. It should’ve been me. I wish it had. I wish…”

Something wrenched inside him. Let him somehow find the right words, say what Beel needed to hear. He had already failed him enough. Stroking the matted orange hair, he said slowly, “Don’t say that. Don’t ever think that, Beel.”

His own throat constricted as he saw his brother through a haze of tears. Beel’s refusal to blame him hurt, more than Mammon’s shouting, his other brothers’ renewed estrangement that seemed impossible to close. No one knew what to say to him; even he didn’t know what _could_ be said.

With such a life the only existence he could look forward to, present and future, his own demise could claim him whenever it liked.

But he had to say _something_ to his other half. He who had spurned his Father, spurned Diavolo, could only turn to himself for faith he didn’t have for the both of them.

Both of them experienced nightmares so vivid it was impossible to tell what came from which. Lilith, who had kept all seven of them united. You, who had scraped the pieces back together. And… him, his brothers, who had ruined it—ruined _you_ —as thanks.

“Promise me you won’t think that, Beel. If you do… nothing else would make me sadder. I don’t want to lose you.”

He hugged his older brother to him, who again responded with a need so naked that swept another wave of guilt over Belphegor. Ignoring the discomfort of their position, he held Beelzebub until the tension eased from his body.

“Go back to sleep. I promise you won’t have any nightmares this time.” His hand emitted the softest of glows, compelling enervation that would produce nothing more than the deepest sleep, free of troubles. Considering that his sin demanded the most energy and his own the least, such exertions left him deprived of his own slumber.

Enveloping him, now fast-asleep, with a second quilt of indigo, Belphegor gave him a tender look none would see before quitting the room.

He struggled to make himself strong, if only for his brother who, out of the pair, felt your death the most. How silly of him to assume that meant he would be immune to grief; not even close.

The last memory of you, looking to him, was seared into his memory, for before you had turned to face Mammon, you had smiled—smirked. Then in the next moment, before he could do anything, you were gone.

He could almost hear you taunting him.

He could see you, a corpse laying forever silent and still in his hands, in Mammon’s hands, in everyone’s hands, broken on the floor. Even so, he couldn’t give up the hope of never seeing you again, if only to apologize—properly—and beg your forgiveness, if you wanted that.

True Purgatory was under Celestial jurisdiction. If you were there… or in the Celestial Realm itself, then… he couldn’t.

That was still an excuse. You’d yell at him for hiding again, for being a coward. Even when the attic had been his prison, you had never minced words. Lilith… what would she say to him? Was the regret he felt from her, from Beel, or did you actually chip your way into him, as your own person? There was no straight answer to this.

“Enjoying a moonlit walk?”

“…”

“I sincerely hope that is all you have in mind. Purgatory Hall is currently off-limits to all demonkind.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Same as you, Belphegor.” Barbatos saluted the demon with an overly elaborate courtesy that was in itself a polished insult. “Drinking in the starlight… and patrolling the barrier erected over Purgatory Hall as a safety precaution against any… overzealous demon who might find it a challenge to overcome than a rule to be respected.”

Adjusting his eyes, the avatar did indeed sense a faint humming that vibrated the air. “I see.” His voice was toneless.

“Worried for our pact-holder? I’m sure he’ll appreciate your touching concern.”

“Mind your own business.”

“An interesting piece of advice.” Barbatos looked amused, his eyes taking on a silvery glow. “One that would’ve suited you very well in the grand scheme of things, wouldn’t you say?”

Tired eyes flicked from barrier to butler. “I don’t need you to lecture me, too.”

“That is an unnecessary worry,” Barbatos chuckled. “It is not my duty or nature to instruct the intractable.”

As Belphegor made to go, he heard over his shoulder: “It is only a humble servant’s advice, so take it as you will. Were I you, I would be on my best behaviour lest there be eyes on me… eyes that, for one, know your actions all too well, whether fulfilled in this world or the next.”

Belphegor turned, burning a look that promised nothing less than open if undeclared war. “Is Diavolo’s slave actually taking the time to threaten me?”

The insolent smile remained, but it no longer reached the eyes. “Take it any way you like as long as you bear it in mind.”

* * *

Your church owed you an apology.

This looked nothing like any afterlife they taught you. Where were the gates? The pearls? Or, if people really went to Hell for touching themselves, where was the fire and brimstone? Didn’t someone say Purgatory was a place of pain and joy? You didn’t feel any of that.

That someone was Luke, you dummy. As if you’d forget him.

You had awakened with a headache that pounded like a heartbeat, your world a grey blur that bore no relation to the defining colours of the Devildom… or Earth.

Something about fields. Asphodel! That was the name. You knew the Perry Johnson series would come in handy for this.

Which meant—well, you knew you hadn’t lived a particularly good or evil life. You had just lived. You had hoped that being stuck with demons would’ve given you a bit more brownie points, though. Wait, then was this place in the Devildom? Was this a part of Purgatory? You were here because… because you had to be. You couldn’t remember why.

If you had more energy, you might’ve embarked on a great quest to find out why you were here. You could’ve explored this desert of monochrome, groping your way through the semi-darkness, and figure out its secrets and the nature of this environment that wasn’t friendly, but not hostile, either. It would’ve looked prettier with stars.

However, your standards had taken a steep drop before… this. Settling among a smoky hollow that swirled through, you made yourself lax. Your headache long gone, you were content to sit back in complacency and finally bask in peace.

By experience, you were, after all, not inclined to be finicky when it came to matters of your heart. You had toughed out enough already, and you were ready to rest, away from all that.

All what?

All that, of course. Was it not your nature to not overthink things?

Yes, that was true. Then surely it wasn’t so bad to take a nice, long rest. You yielded to a sensation of pressure that you did not find unpleasant as you (literally) went with the flow, making yourself comfortable as wisps and fragments of memories drifted away from you. You deserved a break after such a trying ordeal. Even if resting meant giving in because it wasn’t giving in to those who least deserved it.

You were a poor tracker of the clock. You didn’t know how much time had passed if time had any footing here. A strange consciousness infiltrated your repose as your surroundings rumbled.

Aw, fuck, what was it _this_ time? Here you were, ready to dissipate into entropic nothing, who was stopping you this time?

D̶̢͙̙̘͓͓҇͆͆o҉̡̭̥̪̪̌̄̾̕ ņ̴͎̱̗̙̞̔̈̏͆͡o̴̠̗͌̓͌͜͡ţ̵̱̤͎̒̅̚͠ b̷̧̮̝̣͓̲̅̀͂̅͡ě̷̢̳̯͈̄̾̎̈́͡ a҈̢͉̞͉͍̜̾̆̔̓̕f̸̢͚͚̙͈̆̅̄̀͝ŗ̸̪̰̮̬̬̆̇̏̕a̸̡̖̗̽̀͌͡í̶̡̛͈̙̪͎̄d̸̨̮͖̟҇͊̓̏̊.̴̢̥̫͇҇̀͊̚

̸̧̪̗̾́͂͋̔͝ͅOh what the good lord fucking hellscape fresh abomination was this?!

I̓̍͠s̈́̆͠ t͂̑̊͞h͛̚͠a̿͑͛̍̍͠t҇͒̄ t̊̈́͑͛̒͞h͆̊̐͠e̛̅̐̽̌ s̄̌͛̅̕o҇͂̓ù̽̂͂̕l̈͂̚͡?̔̅̍͝

͊͌̒͡If you had a voice to scream, a weapon at hand, you would’ve used both. As your corporeality was a tad lacking at the moment, you tried to will yourself to get out, and away from this sight that obliterated all stretches of the mortal imagination.

First thing you beheld: eyes. Way too many eyes that remained open and blinking as if they weren’t on interlocked wheels with floating heads that moved independently of each other and were _on fire?!_

Ỹ̸̨̰͙̂̕ë̵̥͙͚́͋͛̊͢͡ͅs̶̨͈͙͑̕̚.̵̡̩̱̦͇̐̈́̉̊̚͠ D̸̡̛͚̜̝̠͂̃o̸̡͔̠͎̫҇̈́̒̑̄ y̸̢͎͔͈̟̔̾͠ơ̵̡͔̠͈͙̪̊̅̀͑̚u҉̧͙͙͂͒̃͡ s҉̡̤̝̘҇̆̅̉̚e҉̨̘͕̪̙̬̇͌̽̀͞ē̸͚̫̖͌̄͢͞ t҉̧̣͍҇̿͌͊͊̚h̷̨̬̜͎̅͂̂̂̓͝e҉̢͉̘̩̱̲̈̆̈͛͒͞ p҉̙̞͔͓̏͒́́̕͢a̷̗̮̱̟҇͌̏̊͢c̴̖̟҇̈͢ẗ̴̡̞͉͌̏̌̋͞s̵̨̞̒̾͠ͅ s̵̢͈̩̗̽͆͝ͅe̶̢̠̙͐̔̉̽͡à̷̢͎̦̰̩̓̈́̌̚͝r҉̯̪̳͖͍͒̈̑̓̾͢͞e̴̞̳̜̟̔̏͢͝d̴̨͍̬̙͈͂̈͝ ẉ̷̨͍̝̞̙͌̍̉̄̆͠i҈̨̲͇͔҇̍̿t҉̳̱͂̔͢͞h̷̢̝͈҇̄͊̒i̷̢̫̳҇̾̄͛ņ̷̖̜̤̞̳̍͛̐̈̕ t̸̡̟̦̩͗͋̕ĥ̷̨̬͈̘́̌͠ȩ̶̮̮͕͚̌̈̏̈́̓͞ f҉̢͖̝͚̫͍҇̄͌͗̆̐o̶̥̪̓̍͆͜͠ļ̶̰̦͍͇͉͊̈̋̉͡ḑ̴͉҇̒̔ͅs̸̛̬͚̐͂̓͑͜?̶̭̤͈͎̌͋̌̈̚͢͠ T҉̱̟̙͒̂͒́͜͞h̵̡̦͚̙̦̅͝i̷̛̱̠̪̥̳̎̚͢s̶͖̰͙̣̙̈́͛̐̍͜͝ i҈̨̛̫͖̳̣̇̿̍̀͛s̴̝̯̮̪̃̓̅̚͢͞ ţ̴̟̮̰̤̈̾̆͐͞ḩ̷͙̭̖̍̎̕ȩ̶̛̙̟̭̾͐̔̃̾y̸̮͍̫͈͌͂̅͢͡.̸̢̛̬̜̤̱̳͗͐̓ W̷̡̙̘̝̊̅̋̔͐͠e̶̡͉̜͆̋̕ f̵̨͕͍̳͕̉̽͐͛̕o҈̳̗͇̖͚̍̀̂͌̕͜u҉͉̯̦̉͊̅͢͝n̶̨̳̠̦͖̜҇̿͊d̶̡̪̠̀͌̀̄̈͝ y̵͙̘̦̖̜̐̏͜͠o̴̡̖͎͗̏̄́͛͠ṷ̷̪͆̏̈́͌͢͠ a̶̡̛͎͔̱͍̫̅͐ẗ̸̪̘̞͎̤̈́̂̅̈́͜͞ l̴̩͎̝̝͚҇̓̉̇̏͜ȁ̷̛̮͇͚͍͌͜s҈̨̛̞͇̣̾͗̅ͅţ̴̥̳̦͌͆̅̌̉͠.̷̢̣͚̐͆͞

So the Devildom was a lie. This… this must be the true face of Hell. You cowered, shovelling through your archives of memories that could possibly explain this madness and drawing a complete blank. Fuck your inability to run, you were going to try.

W͐̏̕ǎ̎̓̕i͒̈́͡ṫ̛̈̅,̛̐͐̚ c͐̑͗͡o҇̔̋̆m̽͑͒͞ē̛̌ b̔̐̊̿̏͡á̈́̍͂̿͠ĉ̃̓̓̕k̏͒͆͡!̔͌͠ 

Fuck that. If this was a horror movie, no one would trash you for trying to escape. The Quiet Mountain Series couldn't hold a candle to this shit.

What was the feeling of seeing these wheels split apart from each other, eyes blinking a hundred or so at a time as they blazed upon bronze crystals and turned at impossible angles? Fear was a pathetic description. Maybe _astonished._ Or _awestruck._ Your old priest liked using that word but only now did you feel that word might do this justice.

A҈̧̮̮̌̾͆̍͡s̶̨̲͇͚̲͛͛͠ Ỉ̴̯͎̊͊͜͞ s̸̡͍͈҇̊̂̽a҉̢̛̭̠̙̖̯̐̿́́̚i̸̡̜̠̯͓̫̎̄̇͞d̶̛̗͓͌̇̂̍͢,̴̧̣̘̩͙͒͗͌̚͠ f̷̧̰̳̍̿̚͡ę̸̛͎̖͎̎̒̾͗a̶̧̟̿̄͐͠ͅr̸̨̬̳̐̓̈́̀͝ͅ n̵̨̝͔̪͋̔̕̚o̷̢̮̪̫̊̾̕ͅt̴̡̲͇̭̤̝̂̄͝.̶̩̗̥͚̝̾̓̿͢͡

Yeah, no. You couldn’t make out what the head(s) were saying, but whatever it was, you didn’t like it. You felt trapped and you had no idea what was going to happen to you. The flames were way too close for your liking; were you still flammable? You didn’t want to find out.

M̏̚͡å̆͒̍͞ỷ̄͂̓͝b҇̓́̉͌̾e̐̏͡ t҇͐͌̈h͛̓̕e̊̅̇̄̚͠y̋́̋͂̕ c̍̃͝a͑͑̊͠n̓͋̓́̕'̍̾͛̂͠ṫ̾͗̈̚͠ ǔ͞n̐̆̆͞d̐͗̍̏̈͠e҇͆͒͒r̾͡s̛̍͗t҇̍͊͒a̒͗̔̑͝ṅ͗̓̑̇͡d͌̇͝ u҇̆̋̅̌̉s҇͂̚?҇̿͊

“You’re in your true Celestial form. I told you this would happen, remember? They’re terrified, just look at them.”

It was almost welcome, hearing a concrete language you were familiar with. But if something so sensible was mixed in with these phantasmagoric creatures, you highly doubted you’d be returning back to your relaxation anytime soon.

“Ah, yes, this is a place where vocalized speech is forfeited. Please, one moment while I cast a spell…”

You groaned. Words? You knew words, lots of them. The electrifying sensation of cold water splashed over you and you felt… something was removing film over your sight you didn’t know you had. You had a voice, but it didn’t come from you; there was only a window where you could reach through, where your thoughts could be communicated in their tongue.

It had been your language, too.

“Can you understand me?”

Yes.

“Do you know who I am?”

Yes… maybe.

“Can you say my name?”

It took you several moments to remember the name. Alas, thoughts were harder here, slower to be translated into a speech you fought to retain.

“Salmon.”

The gears with the closed eyes shook, threatening to dismantle themselves from each other. Ȉ͂̑͠t̛͐̂̚'̛͂̆s͂͆̕ t̋̒̕h̛͛͗̑́e̾̔͞m̆̍̓̄͡!̃͗́͝ I̍͑̽͡ k҇̒̇n̾̒͋͠ẽ̏͡w҇̎͗ w҇̈̀̎ẽ̉͞ c҇͗̆́ơ̊͂̎̑̌ǔ͆͋͞l̛̅̄d͑̊̊̓̄̕ f̓̉͐͠i̒̇̋͡n͂͋͠d̔̃̆͂̈́͞ t҇̃͌̌ḧ̉̄̕e҇̓́m͊̉͒̇͞!̊̊̌̽͠

You flinched as one dome-crystal-whatever blinked its bajillion pupils and approached you, but their voice was noticeably more coherent than before. You squinted, wondering who this could be to welcome you so warmly. The embedded gems shone in colours you had no name for before settling on two small crystals that sparkled in newness, simple adornments compared to the rest that spun in slow circles, seemed to always be turning toward the light.

He had smiled so brightly when he held them.

“…Luke?”

Y҇̏̃̽̾̎e͗̑͂̕s̅͑̔̚͞!҇̆̋̑̋ I̅͌͠t̋̈́͑̐͞'̉̒͌͑̑͡s̃̃͛̎̿͡ m̓̈͋̈́͡e҇̑͐̓͑,̌̑͑̕ a͆̍̒͊͌͡n̛͑̓̋̋̊d͌̿̽͛͡ S̒̎̕i͂̑͂̈͠m̛͑̒̆e̽͛̊̀͠ȯ̿̕n҇̽̌̂͋ t̅̽̏̕̚o҇̐͐͌̐̉õ͛͝!

!

“Easy, Luke. I’m glad we found them, but even you look a little unnerving to them right now.”

T̵̵h̸a̷t҈,҈̸ a̸̵n̵d̵ i҉҈t҉'̸̵s̶҈ a̷̵ l̷̵i҈t҉t̴l҈e҉ h̶̷a̶r҈̸d̷̸ t̶o̴ h҉̴u̴g҉̶ t̴̴h҉e̸̷m҈ a̷t҈ t̵h̸e҈҈ m̴o̶m̴҉e҉̸n̸̷t̶

“How?”

Solomon had more form here. The angels (Or, as the song went, **_Spooky Scary Seraphims ♪_** ) radiated like beacons, but the sorcerer kept you grounded, sustaining your shape. You must’ve been very small for him to kneel before speaking directly.

“Surely you didn’t think I’d let you go without fulfilling your favour?” A gold chain was looped around his belt, a single crystal gleaming in the crux. “I’d hate to have to say goodbye so soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Pros of staying dead:**  
>  -proverbial FU to the demon assholes who _finally_ get it if only by realizing how it affects the ones _they_ care about, demon-centric bag of dicks  
> -finally some goddamn peace and quiet  
> -don't have to deal with magical shit, not like you have magical powers to use anyway
> 
>  **Cons of staying dead:**  
>  -you don't get to see them realize how they fucked up and you kinda liked some of them  
> -family? friends? 'fun' is in funeral but rearrange the words and you get 'un feral', which is definitely what your mom is _not_ going to be when she finds out  
> -can't ever have strawberry cheesecake again
> 
> Mm yes I think that covers it, feel free to contribute if you feel this list is inadequate.  
> Huge thanks again to Forever for beta reading, and a virtual air kiss to those who take the time to read and share their opinions! I read every single one of them to take into account and you guys are awesome. Mwah.  
> * = from the Confiteor, which is a prayer where you confess your sins to God. Translation: My fault, my fault, by my most grievous fault.


	13. Roman Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the peaks of grief and shock wear off, the survivors are left to pick up the pieces and move on. If only the dead weren't so! But the world must continue its slow tread and its remaining inhabitants with it. That was how humans carried on, however heartbreakingly they had to because life wasn't finished with them.
> 
> It hit different for the ageless creatures to whom death was a distant rumour that would never touch their immortal bodies. Their nature exempted them from death and with it, the mortal fortitude and solace that earthly creatures were granted to eventually progress with their own lives. Lilith died despite their efforts, an atrocity that would never be repeated.
> 
> What of you who died _because_ of their efforts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is **long**  
>  didn't break it up because… why not? Those who read it so far, I hope, won't back out.  
> wow Zalgo font is _really_ hard to read  
> don't mind me just slowly going insane over here  
> holy FUCK how did this get so much attention you guys wow you guys are the best or am i just high  
> But seriously, thank you so much, all of you guys. I'm happy and grateful that people enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it.  
> Credits to ForeverAlone5 for the beta

You weren’t going to try to understand the spellcasting he pulled off to give you a proper voice—and sweet blood of Christ, the angels weren’t becoming any less terrifying to look at. It was near uncanny valley shit and your mind kept trying to reject the spectacle, insisting that it was impossible.

“Why—” wow, you sounded weird, like a recording of yourself. You sounded older. “Why are you here?”

You said that like _you_ knew where ‘here’ was. All you cared was that you could rest here without having to watch your back. At least, you had thought.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Solomon’s brow furrowed. “To see you.”

Ẅ͗̕e̛̐̂͐ c҇͌͊͒͑̒o͊͒̽͡ű̉͊̈́͝l҇̈͌̅̑͑d͑̊̓͞n̛̋̔’̛̑͛̊̋t̅͑͂͝ l҇̈͆͑ȇ̾͊̎͠t̛̐̈́ t̔̅͝h̛̋́̒̀e̋́͞ d̛́̉̍̓̆e͐̿͡m̾̎͝ơ͌͗̿̀̊n̿̐̑͒͝s͊̆̌͠ l͑̄̎͡e̊̎̓̆͡ă͂̋̾̓͞ṽ̊̆͠e͑̐̉͑͞ y̽̊͞ŏ̈́̾̅͝ư͌̇ f͌͛̎͝ō͒̓̍͡r̛̈́͆ d̂̑̐̿͡e͋̐̾͡a͒̈́͡ḋ̛͂͌!́͊̎͞

P҉̛͜e̴̢̕a̶̢̛c҈̧͞e̴̡͞,̵̧͞ L̸̛͢u̶̡͝k҉̨͠ȩ̷҇.̷̨͡ T҉̧͠į̵̛m̸̛͢ȩ̶͞ m҈̨͠a̵̛͜y̷̡͠ m̸͜͞e̷͜͡a̶̡͡ņ̸͡ l̸͜͡i̸͢͡t̵̡͡t҈̧̕l҉̢̕ę̸͝ h̴̢͞e̸̡҇r҉̡͝e̴̢̕ b̵͢͝u̵̢͡t̶҇͜ t̸͢͝h҈̨͝a҉̡̕t҈̨͡ d҉̕͢o҉̢͡e̵͢͝s̵̨͝ņ̴̛’̷̨͝t̷̨͡ m̸̡͠e̸̡̕a̵̡̕n̴҇͢ o̶͜͡t̵̨҇h҉̛͜e҈҇͢r̵̢͡s҉̡͡ m̷̡͠a҈͢͡y̸͢͡ b̷̡̛e҈̢͝ w̸͢͝ą̴͝t̸͜͠c̵̢͠h҈̨̛i҈͜͠n̶҇͢g҈͜͞.҈̧͞

Others? What others? “Is this Purgatory? Am I still in the Devildom? Or is this—”

“Shh.” His fingers fluttered. “You may have forgotten that spoken words have power, but the others have eternal memories. Wouldn’t want them to find out that you’re not quite as gone, do we?”

Too many questions, not enough answers. But your newfound tranquillity, possibly a by-product of this place, rendered such concerns inconsequential. Here, it was just you. Back there… you didn’t need to concentrate so hard to remember what was waiting for you back there.

Still, that wasn’t to say the company wasn’t welcome, though you would’ve preferred their other forms. You didn’t know which eyes to focus on when addressing the Celestials, what with the clusters of wings that flapped like a turbulent ocean. Then again, you too were here in another form, another nature.

Leave it to the sketchy one to look as normal as can be. “How did you know?”

The lights of the Celestials glowed fiercer, sparks flying from the multi-coloured irises that which you had to look away.

Ǐ̛̓̓͗̌ s҇̏̎̚a҇̽̽͒w̛͑̿̊͌ t̾͛͆͊̇̕h҇̅̌̈́ê͆̕m̉͛̂̕!̐̏͋͠ T̾͛͡h̾͌͠o҇̔̊͛s̓̽́͡e͌̄͑͗͞ d̛̓̎̋e҇̉͊͌̆m̍̀̾̏̈́͠o̎͂͌̔̕n͌̽̌͞ȉ͂̾͑͆̕c̔̌̍̑͞ ŝ̽̈́̕c̊̍͌̀̆͞ư̆̐͋m̿̊͋͠!͆͒̋̕ Ī͒͠ c͆̆̇̍͠ả̛̽̾̍̈n͂̈́͝’҇̑̏̇t̛̒̚ b̋̈̒͝e̒͊̾̉̊͡l̓̏͞i̊̔͡ê̂̅͠v̔̋͞ê̈͊͡ I̒͠ l̈́͂͝e͂͒͌͂͞t͆̏͝ m͊͗̕ý͗̐͡s̛̉̇e͛͋͞ľ̄̈̚͞f̛͑̃̅ f҇͋͗a̛͂̃͂̆͗l̛͛̆̌̒͋l҇͐̈́̂͗ p̏̀̈́͡r͌͑̾̂͞e͌̇́̾͝y͐̄͋̚͡ t̓͛̇̆̀͝o͑̏̅͞ ṫ̆͞h̍͐͝e҇̎̏ï͆̈́̃͝r͌̌͞ t̽̿̆̋̕ë́̓̈́̚͞m̐̀͡p҇̿̽͛̓ť̾̊͆͝a҇̾̓̍t̛́̏͆̃ḯ͐̿͡o͛̐͑͆̚͝n̿̓͊͡s̋͛̂͝ á̛̇͗̅n̾̋̽̃͠d̒̊̓͡ ã̛̾̾̀c͛̒̂̊̚͠t͆̀̕ǘ̀͒͠a̽͌̎̕ĺ̌́͞l̊͌̆̈͠y̒̆̕ t̊̒̅͠ḣ̿͡ĩ̚͞ń̍͑̓̕k̔͌̏̋͡ t҇̀̽͆h̒̽͞e̿͊͠ÿ̉̕…͒̊͋̒͑͠ t҇̿͐͂͑h̛̋̉̀̾ė̎̊̿͠y҇̈́͒̽…̉͡

L̸̡͡u҉͢͝k̷̛͢e̴̡͠.̸̡͠ I̵̢͝f̸̡̕ y҉̡͠o̶͢͝ų̴̕ b̴̛͢u̷͜͠r҉҇͜n̶̢͞ t҉̧҇o̶̧͠ơ̷̡ b̵̡͡r̶̢͞i҈̨͝g̴͜͞ḩ̸̕t҈̨҇l҈̡͠y҉̧͠ t҉̧͞h̶̡̛e̷͜͡i̵͢͠r̵͢͠ ş̵̛ơ̷̢u̵̢͠ļ̶̕ m̵̛͜a̸̕͜y̸̧͡ g̵҇͜e̸̕͢t̷̕͜ ǫ̶̕v̵̢҇e̵̢͠r̶̡͠w҉̡͠h̸͢͡e̸͢͞l̴̨͡m̷͢͠e̴̢͡d̵̕͢ a̶̛͢ņ̷҇d̴̢̛ t҉̢҇h̵͜͝e̶͜͞n҈̧͡ M̸͜͞i̷͢͞c҈҇͢h̸̢̕a̵̛͜e̷̡͠l̷͜͝ w̶̧̛i҉̨̛l̷̡͡l̶̢͡ g҉̧͞ę̸͡t҈̢͝ ų̴͠p҈̧҇s҉̡͞ę̶͞t̴̨͝.̸̡͡

Good thing emotion was a universal language.

“…you’re Luke, right?” You wanted to hug him, but there wasn’t, um, anything to hug; you lacked physical arms and he lacked… everything. “It’s okay. It was going to happen at some point.” A smidge of malice added, “They’ll get over it quickly. I’m only human, after all.”

W̵̨̛h̵͢͝y҈̧͞ d҉͢͠o҉͜͠ y̴̡͡o̴̢̕ų̶͝ s҈̡͠a̵͢͡y̴̧҇ t̵͜͝h҈̡͡a̶̧͠ţ̶͠ w̷̢͡h̷̡͡e̵̢̛n̴̢͞ y̵̕͢ǫ̷͡ų̶̕ k̷҇͢n҉̧҇o̵̢͡w̵̨͞ i̴҇͢t҈̧̕ i҉͜͡s̵͢͡ n̴̢̕ơ̷̧t̵̢͞ t̶̢͝r̷͜͠ų̸̕e̶͜͠?҉̛͜

Now you wished you had a body so your thoughts wouldn’t be all in the open. Just how much of yourself could you keep away from their eyes?

D̏̅͝o҇̏̉̽n̂͑͛́͠’̐̀́͡ẗ́̀͗͑͝ y͛̂͞o̒̄͑͞u̓̍̀̓͡…҇̂͋̈̇̉ w҇̐̾̄̇a҇͂̅̔͗̿n̛̍̏͗ẗ̛̆̄ t̔̏̕o̽̄̇͠ c̐̉͝ȍ͆̂͋͆͠m͋̂̈̊͡e̛̅͂ b̅̽͠a̛̾̒͊̄c̀̃̅͒͠k̍̄̈͛̍͠?̓̓̽̇̌͠

Back to the demons? “So they can kill me again? Wasn’t twice enough?” A thought seized you. “Did they send you to do this? To bring me back?” The very thought of playing into their whims, again, was so abhorrent that you had to recoil. You felt something inside you crack. “I won’t.” As if you could fight against two eldritch horrors and a Solomon.

P̶̕͢e҉̡҇a̴̧̛c̶̢͞e҈̡̕,̷̕͜ ļ̸̕a̶̧͞m̵̡͠b҈̧҇.҈͢͡

“Don’t call me that.” So you glowed here, too; all it took was a fire. “Even for you three, I won’t. I’ve had enough of demons and dying.”

He shifted, the glint of his belt stealing your view. You wondered what you had given Simeon; you never checked.

“Also,” you looked around, “if I stay here, will I disappear forever?”

“Something like that, yes,” Solomon reclaimed the conversation. “This is a… let’s say… a junction. Not every soul goes its intended path, correct? Some slip through or are forgotten, taking place in legends real and imagined. It’s unfortunate, but it does happen. This is a place that, like many others, is so old that its name and existence are forgotten by all save precious few.”

So why the fuck were you here if ‘here’ wasn’t even supposed to be your destination.

“How do you guys know this place?”

W̶̢̕e̶҇͜ d̴҇͜i҈̡̕d҉̢͠ n̷̢҇o̷͜͡t̴̛͜.҉̧҇ W̵̨҇e̷͜͡ w̷̧͝e̵͜͡r̷̢͞e̶͜͞ o҈̧҇n̶̡͡l̴͜͝y̷̡̕ ţ̴͝r̵̛͢y̴̢͠i̸҇͢n҈͢͠g҈̢̛ t̷̡͠o̴̕͢ f̷͢͞i҈̨͡ņ̵͞d̸̛͜ y̴̨͠o҈̢͞ų̵̛,҈̛͜ u҈̧҇s̵̢͠i̶҇͜n̶̢̛g̵̢҇ y҉̡̛o̷̧͝u̴̢͡r̷̢҇ ą̵͞ņ̴͝c̶̛͜h҉̡̛o̷̢̕r̵̡̛s҈̨̕.̶̧҇

Anchors; things that prevented you from moving away. Your sight zeroed in on the sparkling stones encircled by metal, and—the favour. So you weren’t completely lost. One question down among a sea of others.

I̛͒̒̃f͊̊͌͝ ẙ͗͡o҇̉̏̔͛̋ư̒̑̾ s͌̅͋͡t̛̔̈́ȃ̀͐̔͝y̛̍̄ h̐̈̍̕e̛̐́́̇r̓͂͒̚͝e̛̐̊,҇͛ ý̕̚ô̄͡ü̂͡'̛̅̎͑͊l͊̍̅̂̿͠l̀̈́͞ d͒̑̋̚͝i̽͑͡s̅̽̔́̆͞à́͌̅͡p̋̔͡p̂́̆̽̂͡ě̄͞à̽͠r͒̉̃̃͝…̑̉͆̌̕

You couldn’t look away from the flaming wheel; no matter how you turned, the cluster of eyelids and wings aflare perpetually occupied a corner of your vision. “Luke,” you tried. “Wait. You guys can reveal your forms here?”

M҉̡͝i̷̧҇c̵͜͠ḩ̸͠a҈̡̛e̷̡̕l̷̡̕ w̴͢͠o̷͢͞u̷͜͡l̴̡͠d̴̨͡ b҉͢͠e҈̕͢ d̴͜͡i̴͢͝s̴̨̕p̴̡͡l̶̨͡e̸҇͢a҈̧͞s҈̨͞e̵̡̕d҈͜͞,̶͢͝ b̷҇͜u҉̨҇t̶͢͞ į̵͞t̵̨̛ s̷͢͞ȩ̷͞e҈͜͠m̴̧͝s̷̡͝ t̵̨̛h҉̢҇i̵̧̕s҈̡͝ p̷̨͝l̷̕͢a̶̢͞c̷͢͝e̶̢҇ i҉͜͞s҈̨͡n̶҇͢'̶̡͝ţ̵̛ u҉̧͡ņ̷҇d҉͢͝e̴̡͠ŗ̸̕ C̶̡͠e҉̧̕ļ̵͡e̶͜͡ş̷҇t҈̨҇i҉̨̛a̸̛͢l҈̨҇ a̷͜͡u̷̧̕t̶̡͠ḩ̴͠o̴̧͠r̸̡͠i̴̕͢t̶͜͠y̷̨̛.̸̢͡ A̸̧͝c̴̢͡c̴̢̕ơ̷͢r̴̨̕d҈̧͞i҉̢͡n̸̕͢g̵̨͡ ţ̵̕o̶͢͞ S̵̡̛o̴͢͝l̷͢͞ǫ̴͡m҉̢҇o҉̢͠ņ̵̕,̵̨͠ t̸̢͝h̵҇͜a̸̧͡t̸̨͞ į̸҇s҈҇͜.̸̡͡

“A fact that grows less and less certain the longer all of us stay here.”

S҇͒̒͋o͑̇̒͡l̃̌̚͠o̔͂̾̽͠m̌̇̕ơ͂̿̐̀̈n҇̅̈,̛͂̈́ h̊͑̅́͞ơ̓̎̊̈̀w̒͌͞ m̛̍̃̓̔̓ư̈́̾̽̔̓c̽͝h̋̄͑̇̚͞ l͊̔̕̚o̓̏̾̅̕n̔̀̐͝g̑͝ë̏̓͛͊̕r̒̋̍͞?͆̍͠

“I will let you know when my spell starts to wear off.” To you, “You already feel your memories dulling, correct?”

You would’ve shrugged. “I remember enough.”

“That won’t last forever.”

“Yes.” Your tone added the implicit ‘so what?’

You weren’t the first person who revelled in solitude. Isolation was sought after by failures and geniuses alike to seek penance, divine calling, or to simply hear the echo of their thoughts. But you were the first to find such sanctuary (or, at least, you thought—you hadn’t seen anybody here) and if you simply ceased to exist, it wasn’t a bad way to go.

Y̵̨̛o̷͢͡u̷҇͢ a̵̡҇r̷̨͝e̷̡͞ t̶͜͝r̶̢͞u̶҇͢l̷͜͡y̶͜͠ a҈̛͜l̸̡͠l̴̡͠ r҉͜͞i̸͜͞g̵͜͠h̸̡͠t̵̢͝ w̶̢͝i҉̢҇t҉͜͝h̴͜͝ e̴̡̕n̴̡͝d̷̨̕i̸̕͢ņ̷҇g̸̢͡ l҉̡̕i̶҇͢k҈̢͝ę̷҇ t̴̢̕h̵̢͡i̶̧҇s̵͜͞?̷

Was Simeon mad or was he glowing a thousand times brighter for no reason? “This isn’t so bad.”

“You should be careful about saying such things.” Solomon frowned. Evidently he had expected a different reaction… but what did your survival have to do with his interests?

“Why?” You rebutted.

“A body without its soul is a corpse. What is a soul without a body? Just a spark of life that lingers in a world that it can’t change. You saw Helene.”

“That woman is bound to the portrait till, like, ever,” you replied, churlish. “Here, it’s only a matter of time… urk!”

You thought an eternally spinning wheel of wings and eyeballs with the light of a thousand glorious suns would be terrifying enough? Clearly not, as a humanoid _hand_ emerged from under a nestled wing. You flinched; you’ve seen enough movies to know how many things could go wrong with a disembodied hand.

The hand, bright as solid gold, paused. W͂́̒̈́̍͞h̑̉̓͗̄̕ŷ́͂͠ c̀͞a̎̀̄̔͡n̍̈͑͗͞'҇͌͛t̀͋̏̕ t̒͐̕h̛̋̀e͋͗̂͗͌͠ÿ̇͝ ǧ͂̆͞o͛͂̃͌͗͠ t̽̎̇̒͆͠o͆̈́̈́͞ t̛̒͐̎͛ḣ͒͝ê̈͡ C͗̄͡e̅̋̆͡l҇͌̋̎̃ẻ̂̏̒̑͡s͒̿̊̌̕t҇̇͒̊i͑̈́͞a͒͐̎͡l̐̅͐͡ R̈́̆́̕e҇͌͋̇͌a̅̑̿͠l̆̀̃͡m̛̃̎͊͂?̉̾͝ W҇͆̍h̛̒̄̍y c͌̓̓͡a̒͐̏͠n̄̌͝'͊̽͡t̎̉̍̍̏̕ w͋͛̕e̊̿̊͡ t̊̾̄͝a҇̈́̓k̄͑̑̏̂͞e͌̄̕ t̷͜͡ḩ̸͝e̶͢͠m̶̕͢ t̍̈̈́͠h̛̎̓e̐̍͒̈́̕ř̛́e͊̂̿͠?̓͗́͞

B̴̧͇̯̿͋̐͠e҉̳͕͈͓̬҇̂͐͆̑͜ç̸̥̮͖̟̊̆̄͞a҉̰̝̮͖͑̿͢͝ṷ̴̢̫͎̱̇̒͐̏͡ș̸̨̣͓͛̍͛̐̆͝e̴̖͇̲̊̃͢͡—҉͖̪͖̘͓̉͛́͢͡

And that’s all you could hear before the two conversed in the Holy Tongue. True… they had their secrets, too. Breach of security, perhaps? You quivered, sighing as much as the immaterial you could sigh before turning back to Solomon.

“I’m sorry.”

He no longer knelt, opting to sit cross-legged. “What for?”

Everything? “That you had to come here… I don’t think I’ll go back with you.”

“May I ask why?”

You had to laugh—or try to. “I’m not a video game character. I can’t keep doing… this.”

His expression remained tranquil, but your sight flitted to a tension in his temple. Yet he continued to remain unreadable, exhibiting what seemed only mild confusion. Even here, he had to have the upper hand. It was starting to piss you off.

“Who made you come here?” You demanded.

“No one made me,” he answered calmly. “And before you start throwing out names, I suggest you… don’t. I cannot guarantee that they won’t hear you even with my enchantments.”

Right, because names had power. Him and his stupid list of ominous proverbs. Your attention kept drifting to the two angels (never again would you mistake angels for fairytale-esque winged beauties. This shit here was what made you believe the Celestial War was the greatest battle that transcended all human imagery.)

“Hey, um… guys. You guys all right back there?”

✢☏₭̷̘̗͎̙̭̲̯̾͋̆͊̋̄͐̆̒ ㆅ♛ ❉✇ ♁ ♨☽♆☠ ㊋ℰ₭̴̯̩͇̥̪̟͇̯͓͖̭̈́̐̈̔̾̋̀̈́͐π҉͕͓̰̲̠͉̠͆̅̋͗ͅͅΩ҉͎̥̮͍̦̘̪̖͍̬͓̿͗̋̒̉̀͗͊̿̎͋̋↭✞☹⍖!!

Oh, so _that’s_ what wingdings sounded like. It was cryptic because it was the language of the angels; made perfect sense now.

E̸̢҇x҉̢͝c҈̨͡u҈̡̕s̵̨̕ȩ̴̛ ư̶̢s҈̧̕.̸̧͠ W̵̢͡e̸̡͝ w̶̨͞e҉̨҇r҈͢͠e҈̢͠ d҉̢҇i̵͜͝s̵̨̕c҉̡͞u҉̢͞s̶͜͝s̸͢͡i̶̡͝n̸̢̕g̴̡͞ ą̷͠ p̶͜͞r̴̨͝i̴͢͠v҉̕͜ą̷͝t҉̨͠e̸͜͞ m̴̨̛a҉҇͢t̸͢͞t҈͜͡e̴̡̕r̶͢͞.҈͜͠

You could tell that much.

̴I̶s̸ t̵҉h̶̵i̶s҈ y̸o̴u̸r̸ f̸̴i̸҉n̸̴a̷l̸ d̷̵e̸̸c̴i̷҈s҈i̵o̷n̸?҈

Clearly not, considering how you faltered short of giving the definite answer.

“Simeon, Luke, it’s almost time.”

“Are you leaving now?” How could you sound hopeful and wistful at the same time? Solomon’s trickery, you wanted to think. Not you.

W͆͗͒̿͞a̓̈͛͐̕ỉ̿̔̆̾͞ṫ̄͐̽̚͞,̆̆͞ n̛͛͂̐o͌̍͝!͛̋̕̚ Ì̄͡f̊̒̕ ỷ͐̔̇͡ŏ͐́̌̕ū̌͞ s̊̽͡ẗ́͒̕a҇͂̓́y̌̾̃̉̄̕ h͑̊̓̉͒͡ė̉̕r͊́͝e̍͞,͋̾̅̕ w̾̌̐̋́̕e̒͞'͋͒̄̒̚͝l̛̉̽̋̈́͊l̽̈́̏͝ ň̾͠è̑̒̅͞v̆̓̅̕e҇͌̇r̋̏̌͞ s̛͗͛̿̒̽e͑̊̽͡e͂̌͠ ỳ̄͐̎͡ŏ͂͠ư̾̄̾̓̓ a͒̇͡g̛̿̐̑ȁ̿͋̋͠ỉ̉̊͑͞ń͌̀̏͠,̓͂͠ e͗̒͡v̒̏̕ȇ̈́͂͊͡n͑̑͑͠ i̇̄͡n̛̊̓̊ t̃̂̊̕h̛͋e̊̒̓͒͝ C̏͛̆̚̚͝ë́̓͠l̓̀̓͌͡e҇͂́͛̿̈s̔̏͒͌͞t̊͛͋͡i̛̐͊̇a̎͌́̇́̕l̒̾́͝ R͆͋͞e҇̐̃̔̌̃ȃ͋̐̈́͡l̂͊͋̄͝m҇̍̄͛͆̔!̐͂̕

҇̊͆͒Something trembled. “Luke, it’s not—” you fumbled, “I know, but… ugh, it’s not that simple.”

I̷̧͝f̶̢҇ i̶͢͝t̵̡͡'̶̨͡s҉͜͡ ţ̶͞h̷͢͠e̸͢͠i̴͢͝r̴̡͡ c̶̨͡h̸͢͝ǫ̷͡i҈̡͠c҉̨͠ȩ̵͞,҈̢҇ w҈̨͞e̵̡͡ m̵̡̛u҈̧҇s҈̛͜t̷̢̕ r̷̕͜e̵҇͜s̶̡̛p҉̡҇e̶̢͞c̵̨҇t҉̨͡ i҉̧͠t̴҇͜.̷̨҇ I̷̢̛t̶̢̕'҈̡͞s̴̢҇ F҉̨͞a̴̧̛t̸͢͠h̸͢͡e̴̡͝r҈̢͝'̴̨͝s̸̢͡ w҉̕͜i҈̨҇l̷̢͠l̵̨҇ t̶͢͡h̴̡͡a҉̡͞t̷̢͝ m҉̢̛o҈̕͢r̷͜͠t̸̡̕a̷͢͝ļ̶͞ş̴͠ m̴̛͜a҉̢͝k̸̕͜e̷̢̕ t̴̕͢h҈̨̛e҈҇͢i̵͢͝r҈̡͞ o̵͜͞w҉̧̕ņ̶̕ c̶̢͝h҉͢͡ǫ̸҇i̵̢̛c̷͜͠e̷̛͜ ę̵͠v̷̧҇e̶̛͜n̴͢͝ i҈̢̕f̶̕͜ w̴̨͝e̷͢͠ m҉̢҇a̶̧҇y̶̢҇ n̷̨͠o̴̢͡t̴̡̛ ą̵͞l̶̡͞w҈̧҇a̷̢̕y̴̧͠s̷̡͞ ą̴͠g̵̨͞ŗ̷͞e҈̧͠e̶̛͜.̶̨͠

҉̧͠I̍̀͠t̛̍̿̚'̊͒͊͡s̆̆̈̅͠ ť̛̓ḧ̅͒͗͝e̛͗̊̿ d̛̎̉e̒̓̂͆͊͡m̓͌̄̿͞ö́̋̐͡n̐͋͐͋͝s҇̂͐̒͂͌'͑̾͡ f̓̒͑̕a͆̈́̑͑͡u҇̋̑̚l͆̎̆͡t̍̉̔̅̏͡.҇́̄̏ I͂̕̚t͂̕'̈̏̂̎͋͠ṡ̒̇̇͠ a̎͛̀͗͝l̊̎͝l̽͝ t̿̀͆̇͝h̀̆̑͆͞e҇́̃̍i҇̽̐̄r̈͒͂̽͞ f͗̍̈́̉̕ã̽̄̿͡ư͂̀̇͆͛l̑̓̆̅͠t̛͋̋!͒̿̋͌͋͡

“Simeon!”

Y̴̪̽̐͜͞ę̶̩́̽̅̕s҈͈̙̯̃̓̒͢͠.̷̨̭̌̿͠ L̵̢̲͖̇̄͑̕ų̷̬̙̇̈́̓͞k̵̢̜̊̇͂͝e҈̡͔͛̀͝,̸̨͕̗̃͡ w̸̡̲̪҇̉̒ę̷̛̦͎͉̈̂̾ n҉͎̗̗͐̕͜e̷̯̿͜͞e̶̩̲͓̋̎̑͢͞d̶̡̪͇̏̂͠ t̵̛͖͙̯̋͜o̴̢̭̰͙҇̽̓ g̵̗̗̣̏͢͝ǭ̶̳͡.҉̧̦͎̘͊̈͡

W͆̆͌̓͞ȧ̅͗̒͡i̔̏̾̕t̛͑̌!͆̽͒̉͝ L̉͊͠e҇͐͐̈́t͗̒͗͞ m̓̎̓͡e҇̏̇ t̛̃̉á̚͝l͌̈̃̕k̛͗̀̂̈ t̅̾̕o͛̊͡ ẗ́̂͛͞h̾̎͠e͒̓͡m̆̄͐͝ à͆̓̊͞ l̂̔͗͊̔͞ǐ̾̊͗̐̕t̂̎͂̕̚ẗ̛́͊̀̇̒ĺ͋̇͡e̍̅͑̌͛͞ l͐͗̐̃͝o̎͗͞n̊͊͞g̎͗͡e̒̋̀̕r͗̓̃͑̕!̿̈͡ I҇̓̊f͛͗̏̕ Ḯ̎̌̾͒͠'̓̃͊͡l͊͐͌̔̚͡l҇̿͛̂ n̉̈̾͑̒͠e̿̊̚͡v̌̌͑͠e̒̄͝r̈̓̿̇͋͠ s͒̍͊͗̿͡ě͞ě̈̈́̚͡ t̆̐͗͡h̛̑͆̉e҇̃m̊͛͂͂͝ a̅͒͗̈́̅͡g̍͆̿̎͡a̛̐̄̏i̐̉͡n̛͗̓͗͌̀—̍͞

“Luke!” Against your instinct, you reached for him as the mass of eyes bore into your soul. “Luke, it’s all right, don’t…”

You weren’t sure how you were going to finish that. Don’t bear a grudge? Too hypocritical. Don’t wait for you? Accurate, but you didn’t want to hurt him. Well, you’d never get to finish it; a flash of light, brighter than everything else before, flooded the area and sent you skittering backwards like a shockwave.

Strange to regain sight without dark spots peppering your vision. Everything was darker, greyer, and gloom settled within your being. Being alone suddenly became a lot harder to bear.

“Having second thoughts?”

You almost answered _yes_ , thinking the thought was your own in a place where only your fragile existence had an echo. But hold on. Your being flared in a responsive, glaring light to translate your emotions into wary exasperation. Why are you still here, you tried to say.

**Am I not allowed to remain?**

First thought: oh, _fuck._

Second thought: his soul-thoughts (yes, you were going to call it that) were overblown. Just what more could he do here, what was he planning for you? _He was an all-powerful mage and you were just…_

**…an ordinary soul? Things are way past such an unassuming brand, don’t you think?**

_Bold words to say to someone who couldn’t tell the difference from enchantments and spells._

**You raise ignorance like a shield, but there are no demons here. Only tricksters.**

_No. There’s only one of that._

**Then what do you count me as?**

* * *

Illusions bearing your face tormented the brothers in the shadowy world of sleep where borders were nonexistent and the past and present were one, shaped by memory and peopled by desire. Mammon’s nightmares no longer involved debt alone, not when the dull gleam of lost Grimm reflected your lightless eyes as the coins fell to the floor with the sounds of breaking bone. Snap _snap._

_Finish this. You’re my first, aren’t you?_

Not like that, he tried to scream. Not like this. But he only coughed up Grimm, lodged in his throat. He couldn’t utter a single plea before you pointed, and his limbs weren’t his to control anymore.

He stopped visiting you after a particularly gruesome dream woke him up with his hands clutched around the collar of the sweater you had left behind in his room months ago. How could he trust himself to control himself anymore? What if he desecrated your body further in another fit of unintended frenzy that he couldn’t manage in sleep?

But if he took great pains to keep his mania confined around your remains, it was unleashed with the fury only he could ignite as a true second-born upon his brother.

“If ya never killed them in the first place—maybe if ya just—it wouldn’t have ended up like this!”

He screamed as if it weren’t his fingers that ruptured the life out of you. As though a single action would’ve redeemed his brother the way a single action had damned himself.

He did, however, spend an inordinate amount of time in what used to be your room. Your scent, by now, was almost completely gone from the space. Textbooks and their respective notes were splayed across the desk, scented with dust and plants.

Everything was arranged in the careless display, mimicking a casual atmosphere as if the room’s inhabitant had just walked out for a drink. How many times had he barged in to see you arched over your homework or lounging in bed?

When Lucifer had threatened to clear the room after one too many fights with Belphegor, it had provoked Mammon into a wild and uncharacteristic rage that deferred the removal process… for now.

To the eventual surprise of some, he did not immediately ransack the contents of your room upon his arrival. That wasn’t to say he didn’t take anything at all; he _was_ still the Avatar of Greed, your death hadn’t changed that. All it changed was what he coveted. The biggest greed was for a treasure he couldn’t have.

Walking over, he slowly pulled open some cabinets, giving the resulting school supplies and papers a cursory glance. The last drawer held cut strips of paper, a few folded into origami stars.

Mammon wouldn’t recognize these beyond the shape they represented. He wouldn’t know how you learned to make them, what memory was associated with them, what you had felt when you crafted these strange things.

Without knowing exactly why, he grabbed the paper stars, biting his lip as the sharp corners dug into his palm. As mementos then, of you, the greatest treasure he destroyed.

Memories of sweeter times flooded him, your laughter and the ardent flight towards the sky that clear night among the most vivid. Recollecting them brought a hard lump to his throat.

_...And if I can’t manage to save ya, then make sure you die, got it? It’s me or no one._

He cursed himself when he said that. Or perhaps he cursed you with those words. Too late to tell you he didn’t mean it; hell, Lucifer could hog the spotlight and rescue you again if it _just meant that you’d be alive…_

The last image of you was locked in his memories, his to bear, only his. He wouldn’t share that with anyone, even as he fruitlessly searched for some sort of way to yell at you, or at least say goodbye to you. Maybe you were already in the Celestial Realm, a pure soul that would have nothing to do with the Devildom ever again.

Utterly alone, his eyes burned with unshed tears. They didn’t remain unshed for long.

* * *

**You say you can’t do magic, but you have cast a spell-like change on the most powerful demons of all three realms.**

_Not me. My death._

**But that was your choice, too, wasn’t it?**

You hated that he could see (literally) through you, while you only saw an enigma that prodded and provoked without giving himself away. You hadn’t planned this far; you kinda assumed everything would end with, well, you.

 _Look, I'm a normal person with normal problems. Was,_ you corrected. _Still could’ve been if it didn’t end up like this. I was where I was supposed to be before this crap blew off. I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t think Luke would…_

**Did you think he wouldn’t mourn?**

You hadn’t thought of that. You hadn’t thought of anything at that moment, you suspected. Mourning and wailing and the blazer for your grandfather’s funeral that you never wanted to wear ever again. Oh, God… you were looking down and away, feebly attempting to hide your family from him. You didn’t want to think of that, your family clad in black for you. Remember the vigils, consoling the inconsolable. Anger rose to protect the sadness this ass had to poke at.

**Pardon me if it comes across the wrong way, but those who would feel your loss that keenly aren’t restricted to one realm. To be destroyed without a chance of life for eternity, that’s an undeserving fate for one such as you.**

You burned hotter, a dying star in the milieu of the spiritless. 

_Impossible. I’m just a normal person. You all keep hyping me up like I’m some chosen one but I’m not!_

**Do you truly think that? Even after all that’s happened?**

_Why wouldn’t I? You overpowered immortal superheroes—don’t try to exclude yourself, salmon-boy—might’ve forgotten, but I was a random nobody who was_ happy _with their life before I came here!_

**What does that change?**

_Everything that matters to me!_ Maybe you left your inhibitions with your body; there was no reason to hold back here, a place that let you keep your anger if nothing else.

 _I don’t expect the supreme 73-pact wonder wizard to understand so just… leave me alone…_ you trailed off, wondering where the numbing calm had gone off to.

**Do you still consider yourself the same ‘nobody’ before coming to RAD?**

Shit, now _he_ was glowing, too. Boy was an endless barrel of surprises. You didn’t remember his face being anything like it was now; a ripple that cascaded from bent eyebrow to a set mouth that held the barest thread of a smile.

 **Do you think you can go back to who you were, just one face among many? There were, and are, many like you, you know. It’s true, it could’ve been any one of them. But it was** ** _you._ ** **That was what Fate has decided for you. No one asks for it, but the stars of Fate rarely calls upon at a moment of our convenience.**

_Then your ‘Fate’ can go fuck herself! Haven’t I been used enough? Just what’s waiting for me back in that hellhole that’s worth coming back to?_

**A third chance. Few are blessed with even one, let alone a second. And if that’s insufficient, what of the family awaiting your return?**

You gasped as if he had struck you. _That’s not fair. You’re cruel. You bastard. What do they matter to you?_

 **They matter to** ** _you._ ** **I only observe.**

He had reclaimed his poise far too late for you to gloss over what you had seen. It wasn’t the first time people had talked _through_ you to some other being far deserving of the words they said, yourself merely acting as a conduit for their vented emotion. Dude was a matr—maryo—matroyo—fuck those tiny dolls in dolls.

_Hey, if I told you to leave me here forever as the favour, would you?_

It was an atypical victory; the entire premise was bizarre. But the grim facial expression that passed over his face was something you had never seen before, at least with what you could remember now.

**Is what I have done so far warranted such feelings that you’d rather never see me again?**

_More worried about what you_ plan _to do, really. Sketchy motherfucker._

He laughed as if you had said the funniest thing in all three realms. **Then I can assume you bear no ill will towards me?**

You stared. _Ha-ha._ True, you didn’t _hate_ him, but that was probably because he hadn’t given you a reason to, compared to practically every other demon, who had. Still didn’t trust him… though he hadn’t given you a reason _not_ to, either. Why were you still entertaining yourself with _this wily snake?_

**Not to sound like a certain demon we share but I am ever so much more handsome than a snake.**

_You surprise me sometimes._

**Only sometimes?**

Being near him made you feel heavier. No doubt his doing that you were grounded. Reminded you of the dandelion seeds that simply refused to blow. You dragged yourself away, groping through the colourless junction or whatever the smartass had called it.

After some time, curiosity forced you to turn, facing emptiness. You sensed that he was truly gone; the fleet-footed sensation of weightlessness returned in droves, but you were reluctant to let go of your thoughts this time. What a selfish emotion grief was, denying all pain but one's own. Why didn’t you think of your parents and friends? Why did it take divine intervention to bring them up in your memory?

Not all of your memories were happy. That wrenching feeling in your gut when you made your mother cry in front of you. The engulfing panic when you received that phone call, telling you your sister was arrested. The disorienting terror at realizing you were in an entirely different realm, a terror that surged and re-surged when the demons were a little too demon-y. Breaking your neck, then your sanity, then your will, before you took what scraps remained and thrust it upon them.

_𝕊𝕙𝕦𝕤𝕙…_

If you thought about it, there was no experience you have had that you weren’t at the absolute center of. Other people’s thoughts and feelings had to be communicated to you somehow, but what did they compare when your own was so immediate, urgent, and real?

You had your people waiting for you back home. Shouldn’t you continue living for them, especially if such an opportunity was tossed your way? At least to get back the fifty dollars your cousin owed you? What about the family trip to the beach your dad promised next summer? The bubble tea on your desk after your brother cussed you out saying he didn’t have time for your shit. 

Damn it. You wouldn’t have loved the world— _your_ world—this much if you hadn’t had a childhood in it that was worth preserving. Thank G—your own senses that you could still remember what they looked like, the gloss of memory sharpening the features of the faces you remembered loving and loved by.

_What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known and loved because it is known?*_

But even novelties added their melodies to the thrum of normalcy; humans wouldn’t be so adaptable otherwise. Your first (demon, you emphasized to yourself, nothing else) wrapping a sprained wrist and yanking you out of trouble. An angel’s smile. The school. Blackness crept over your vision. Wait, you wanted to remember more… but you were tired.

Your soul flickered, dimmed.

* * *

“Solomon. Welcome back to class.”

“Thank you. The past two weeks have been a refreshing break.”

“I’m pleased you think so, so long as your grades aren't set back by the turn of events.”

“Not at all, Lucifer. You know how hard I try to be a model exchange student.”

“Given your immaculate record, it seems we should have little to worry about.”

“Good morning, Satan. How unexpected of you to pay me such a compliment. I am, after all, only human. Speaking of,” his eyes glinted. “Is my other fellow classmate still not back from their vacation?”

“They are currently undergoing a… personal matter. Lord Diavolo is seeing to it.”

“Oh.” Eyebrows raised in polite interest. “It seems that those rumours had more credibility than expected.”

Satan shook his head, never taking his eyes off the human. “You of all people would never take gossip as gospel.”

“Gospel? Goodness, such blasphemy,” Solomon laughed, his gaze every bit as piercing as the two demons staring him down. “I was only curious. I have missed their company and it’s most unusual to know that they’re not… in the academy.” He shifted towards Lucifer, gauging his reaction. “If their stay is prolonged, I might drop by for a visit.”

“That won’t be necessary. Where they are, it’s best for them to remain undisturbed.”

He cocked his head. “Perhaps I could ask them myself right now if only their D.D.D. worked where they are.”

“Capable as you are, I advise against pressing the issue.” Lucifer folded his arms.

“Of course. I was only curious. Besides, I’m not one to… ah… forcibly impose on them, or anyone, for that matter.”

A piercing scream sent a jolt up the demons’ spines. Students stopped to turn towards the source that sprinted like a bat out of hell in a blur of white. Solomon, obnoxiously adept, shot out an arm to stop the child from hurtling across the campus grounds.

“Get away from me, you foul demon! Don’t you dare touch me with those disgusting claws!”

“Luke.” His voice was firm.

“Solomon! We need to get out of here! That—that demon tried to corrupt me!” He screamed. “Why did Michael think this exchange program was anything but a trap, to show the demons’ foul nature?!”

Lucifer gave a warning glare; they were sworn into silence, for the time being. He didn’t know how Diavolo managed to persuade them, but if that brat were to cause a scene in such a public place, the demons would surely turn on the angels, too. The foolish child.

“Where’s Simeon? Why aren’t you with him?”

“I-I don’t know!” he wailed. “I was looking for him when this depraved demon got in the way!”

“Please excuse me, good angel, sir.” Little D No. 2 bobbed its head. “Excuse me, Sir Lucifer, Sir Satan. There seems to have been a misunderstanding. I had only meant to inform the little pup that his owner was summoned to Lord Diavolo.”

Solomon shushed Luke, whispering something into his ears that calmed the angel enough to fall silent. Sullen, he mentally recited his promise. Michael had told him this was a great responsibility. Simeon had assured him that he could see it through. And you…

“Let’s go.” He tugged at Solomon’s cape, refusing to look anyone in the eye.

Giving the two demons a last nod of acknowledgement, the wizard allowed himself to be pulled away by the angel.

* * *

The second time you saw him you reflexively searched for the Celestials. The lack of blazing light should’ve indicated their absence straightaway. To be honest, it was hard deciphering what were figments of your making and which weren’t, especially since the latter was an exceedingly rare occurrence.

_Oh, what is it now?_

**I’m so glad to see you, too.**

_Don’t you have some homework to do instead of bugging me?_

His expression morphed into one of intrigue. **So you still remember?**

_That you love trolling people? Hard to forget that. You’re not a very forgettable person._

**My, I should come here more often. Every time I do, you are very generous with your compliments.**

You shouldn’t have nerves he could grate on; what did you say last time? Never mind that, he was here: might as well. _Can I ask you something?_

 **You may ask me anything you like,** Solomon grinned. **But I may choose not to answer.**

Oh, how you ached to kick him in the balls. _How does—the demons not know you come here?_

 **Think of ‘here’ as a sort of crossroads.** He explained like you had asked for the first time. **Where time has no power and is forsaken by reality. Even the strongest of them,** he smiled with a trace of strange bitterness, **have their blind spots.**

Something in his demeanour made you loath to ask the next question that came to mind.

**You wonder how you came here.**

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Like it mattered here. _How often does it happen? That someone just… winds up here._

 **That’s a conversation for another realm.** He winked. **For it involves a lot of names better left unsaid in this place.**

_For someone who’s so careful to stay out of trouble, you sure are risking a lot to come here._

**Maybe it’s because I simply enjoy your company.**

_Don’t be ridiculous._

**Do you think so little of yourself? Or is it your defence mechanism to belittle yourself in the hopes to downplay your virtues?**

_You must be really fun at parties._

**When I need to be. Do you remember the last one, where we had gone together?**

You concentrated. Was that the one where you tried to strip so you could become one with Mother Nature?

**That… feels like a memory you had in the ‘before’. You were a lovely dancer.**

You hoped that wasn’t a euphemism for something else. You must’ve been drunk. You didn’t want to talk about that. _Do you have another name?_

**What do you mean?**

Geez, he didn’t need to be so on edge. You held the elation of a carefree child going over their stash of goodies. _I have five, including the one I had before legally changing my name. And there were the nicknames. Did you have them, too?_

**You go first. Dangerous thing, a name. Someone could catch you by it, you know?**

_Nicknames, then. Mine was Spaghetti Hands._

**You can’t say that and not expect me to want an explanation.**

_Well, the explanation involves a lot of real names and you said they were dangerous, so too bad. Now you. Salmon doesn’t count._

**...Jed.**

?¿? _Where the heck did that come from?_

**A long explanation that involves many names.**

_You dick._

**Do you still find contentment staying here?**

What did that word mean to you now? You had to think. Here was where you found complacency. A small shelter where you could find a silence that soothed the upheaval that had wracked you to the core.

However, you also knew everything had a price; for taking you as its lodger, this place demanded your being as compensation. It was unnerving, to forget the good as well as the bad. You knew that you couldn’t have one without the other. But knowing in theory and firsthand experience had quite the gap, someone had taught you.

_You must think I’m a coward._

He said nothing, which in itself was an answer. Could he sense your indecision, understand what made you reticent even as you were literally crumbling away? Was he— _human_ —enough to comprehend this? You stared at each other, probing, searching, absorbing the ensuing silence with mixed anticipation and solace. You decided to communicate first: _Are you going to stay here until there’s nothing left?_

The corners of his mouth twitched into a caricature of a smile. **Would it displease you if I did?**

_I could think of worse people to be with as I face imminent oblivion._

**And yet you remember more in a place that has expunged more souls than the expected lifetime. You’re truly a puzzle. Unlimited magic that cannot be used by the bearer. Pacts of the strongest, pacts that can barely do the minimum. An average front that hides much. And they say I’m the one not to be trusted.**

_They who?_

**Just people.**

_I’m no one all that special. Except for those who count._

**And what of me?** He leaned closer, curious fingers hovering before you.

You tried to swat him away, withholding your surprise when you went right through him. The banter was so familiar you had forgotten.

 _Like I’ll ever know your thoughts,_ you tutted.

In an offhand reflection, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d go back if you were stronger. If you knew you could fight back; or at the very least, hold your ground against everything that got in your way.

_What if you could?_

**You are a normal being brought to abnormal circumstances.** Was his hand where your head would’ve been, or your face? **In a way, it’s a credit to your fortitude. If your life remained unturned, you’d never have known if you could survive.**

 _Uh, I_ didn’t _survive._

**You still could.**

_And if I ended up here again?_

**That would be by your will, not a fate designed by the stars.** He rose.

_Guess I’ll see you next time._

Amusement coloured him. **How do you know?**

 _Three’s the magic number,_ you shot back. _How do I know?_ _I have my reasons, you probably have more._

* * *

“Hey, Henry. Sorry about the last time. You must’ve been scared for your life, huh? Did you miss me while I was gone?”

Henry stared back, yawning.

“Well… being the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy isn’t easy, you know? You remember Lotan? He wants to see you. Get out of the castle! He’d be on his best behaviour, you know he would.”

_Knock knock_

“You want better company? Too bad, the—the human’s gone. You’re stuck with Lotan or my idiot brothers and—”

“And who are you calling an idiot, Leviathan?”

“An idiot wouldn’t know to wait until I get the door… oh, Lucifer.” He gulped. “What do you want?”

“Have you been to the mausoleum lately?”

“Me? No, I just came back. You could’ve just asked me through text.”

“Consider this a check-in as well. The rest of your brothers haven’t seen you in a while. You’re almost a ghost.”

Ooh! Poor choice of words. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.” Unlike someone else. “What? I’m doing fine in classes, aren’t I?”

“Fair,” he acknowledged his words if not the sullen tone. “But the others are worried for you, Leviathan.”

He wasn’t good with the touchy-feely unless it was behind a screen. “I think Belphie’s the one you should be worried about.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

He’d visit more if he could go by himself. But between Cerberus and Lucifer whose presence was necessary to deter the former (but wasn’t mourning supposed to be a private moment?), it was a rock and a hard place.

Being a shut-in had its advantages but he wondered if that was really his inborn tendency or a byproduct of the sin he embodied. Envy wasn’t meant to be flouted, worked its full potential as an undercurrent, a slow-spreading poison that ate away at every confidence in its lingering, unobtrusive tendrils.

Dreams of you came in shapes of water, enrobed in Henry’s armour or a fishtail, very much like _Singing Mermaids: Peachy₂ Peach Oh Neptune! My Love Interest Is A Secret Ocean Princess_. Your laughter was lost to the bubbles as your last flickering moments cast him aside.

He envied his brothers for making you happier than he could. Jealousy stung him, even that Mammon should get to see your final moments of life before collapsing in his arms—again. Of course; whoever would want _him_ to be their first?

“You’re right, Henry. Nothing beats 2D.” He staved off sleep better than most, centuries of binge-watching and overnight gaming having trimmed down his sleep requirements to a minimum. When anime failed to convert the drowning, sinking feeling into a sadness he could swallow through the lens of tragic character deaths and angsty clichés, he turned to Devilcord.

“But I still miss them…”

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _Guys up for a raid?_

 **_3Spooky5Me_420:_ ** _Eyyy look who’s back been awhile_

 **_3Spooky5Me_420:_ ** _You missed the premium boss lel_

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _imm here now arent I_

“I wish they had been my Henry, you know?”

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _Still can’t change your username Fist?_

 **_XxTHe_FAt4I_FIstEr-_-xX:_ ** _stfu the mods suck_

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _roflmaoooooooo that’s on you_

 **_shibal❋sekki:_ ** _What kinda gamer still uses their first username anyway_

 **_XxTHe_FAt4I_FIstEr-_-xX:_ ** _the kind that can beat u turd jackass_

“But maybe they were, and I wasn’t enough. The Lord of Shadows… ha! I’m just a worthless otaku.”

 **_3Spooky5Me_420:_ ** _o shet next hero dungeon opening up in 5. Get ready_

“Ha… I really hate myself sometimes. Useless, weird…”

 **_hanging_with_my_normies:_ ** _u ok l3v1? Hows the normie, still tryna get em to game with us? Been some months since, your first human friend_

 **_shibal❋sekki:_ ** _gotta be better than this deadweight. Tell them to join we’re so nice_

 **_XxTHe_FAt4I_FIstEr-_-xX:_ ** _no were not u salty ass_

 **_shibal❋sekki:_ ** _if my ass is that salty y dont u fist it huh_

 **_XxTHe_FAt4I_FIstEr-_-xX:_ ** _u can go_ [CENSORED] _and imma go_ [CENSORED] _on yo_ [CENSORED] [CENSORED]

 **_3Spooky5Me_420:_ ** _u gud chief?_

 **_hanging_with_my_normies:_ ** _l3v1?_

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _yeah_

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _they moved downstairs_

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _think ill do just one with you guys tonight_

 **_L3V1aちゃん:_ ** _dont make me carry again_

* * *

_Get out._

Silence.

_Come out. I know you’re here._

A faint hum that attempted to resist. But your will was the only thing that mattered.

_Come out!_

_“Lilith!”_

The air shimmered and rippled; you dared to look into the source of movement, intrigued when the resulting product was a lot darker than you had expected.

She was just another soul, nearing the fate originally intended for her. Why should you feel sorry? She had her cake and ate it, too; did she not live amongst the humans she so loved? Was ceasing to exist that much worse than an eternity of torment that awaited the damned?

𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕞𝕖?

_I should. Though… I guess if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t exist. So there’s that._

𝕀’𝕞 𝕘𝕝𝕒𝕕.

Are you?

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙, 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦… 𝕀’𝕞 𝕘𝕝𝕒𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕤𝕟’𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕠 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖.

Oh, she meant that. _Are you going to badger me about living on, too?_

𝕀 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟’𝕥.

_But you’re going to anyway._

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕀 𝕒𝕕𝕧𝕚𝕤𝕖, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕛𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕞𝕖.

Damn, she was good.

ℍ𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦.

You retorted before you could think better of it. _Shame those who care for me are different from those who care for you._

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕖. 𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨.

_Were you watching me this whole time? That’s very creepy._

Didn’t she resurrect you before? Among memories forfeited, your first death still remained vivid. She didn’t ‘bring you back to life’ as much as she yeeted your spirit or soul or whatever back to some convenient time magic. You supposed this was a little different.

𝕀 𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕞𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕖𝕟𝕕, 𝕒𝕟 𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕕𝕠 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕖.

 _Don’t guilt-trip me!_ Light flared around you. In the wizard’s absence, you could admit that maybe there were mortal luxuries that you weren’t too thrilled to surrender, but it was perhaps your pride that stung at the prospect of making things hella convenient for the ones who did you in like this. Once again, nothing would change except you. You couldn’t stand that, another betrayal done to you, the irregularity.

𝕊𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕡𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕥?

_You chose annihilation for an elementary crush!_

𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥!

 _Bitch, please._ Wait, oops. You had meant to think that to yourself. Well, fuck.

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕? 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙? 𝕀 𝕕𝕠. 𝔻𝕠 𝕀 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗 𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕝𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣, 𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕠𝕦? 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕀 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕕𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕗 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖? ℕ𝕠. 𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥, 𝕀 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕥.

_And it would’ve been great if it ended with you but that’s not the case, is it! It had to spill over onto me and who-knows-else if I failed, you irresponsible prick!_

You had expected her to put up more of a fight, felt more troubled than relieved when the light surrounding the existence of Lilith declined further, a dying ember sputtering past its prime. That had to be a brag-worthy accomplishment in another world: that you managed to dim the lights by hurting its feelings. In this world, you only felt frustrated.

 _Hey, look, um…_ you weren’t going to take back your words, but you didn’t have to leave it at that. _I guess you didn’t plan for it to turn out like this, either. Not that it changes anything._

𝕄𝕪 𝕚𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪, 𝕞𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕕, 𝕞𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖—𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤. 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟. 𝔸𝕟𝕕… 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀’𝕞 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪. 𝕀’𝕞 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪, 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕕𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕.

An apology wasn’t good enough. But it was genuine, upfront; you could give it that, irritation notwithstanding.

The sickly light that embodied your ancestor glowed with sudden vitality. 𝕀𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝔻𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕕, 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕗𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦.

A coil of hopefulness stopped short, waiting. You always wondered how people could be ‘drunk’ on power, but the crackling energy you felt was intoxicating as a strong drink. You acknowledged its allure; you wanted it.

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕞𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕓𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣. 𝔸𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕧𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟.

Still, you hesitated. A thousand different thoughts, each too small to take root, eliciting doubt.

𝕀 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕒 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕓𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤.

Forgiveness was divine. You were descended from an angel, her fallen divinity passed onto her bloodline all the way to you. You stared directly into her core; it looked like a nucleus. You wouldn’t lie, not like everyone else had done to you. _You know I wouldn’t accept it if you were._

𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕓𝕖 𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥. 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕚𝕗 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖, 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘. 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤. ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕤 𝕀 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙.

_Are you really going to die?_

𝕋𝕠 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕞𝕤, 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤. 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕪 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘-𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕨𝕟 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕖. 𝕀 𝕨𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕓𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕀 𝕨𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤…

𝕀 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕒𝕤 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕕, 𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟.

Everything around you held its breath; well, not really, but it was eerily silent as she awaited your reply.

Funnily enough, your life didn’t flash before your eyes. Wasn’t that supposed to happen in a scenario like this? Instead, you thought over the reasons to take what your ancestor offered. The reasons came to you in the shapes of faces, warm smiles, familiar scents, and melding voices. Even the brothers, the angels whose faces were blurred and shapeless. What could you expect from them?

_Are you afraid?_

𝕀 𝕒𝕞. ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕪 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦.

* * *

Amazing how life still went on even after the unthinkable happened.

“Beel. You can get through this. _They_ would want you to.”

“You don’t have to say that. You saw them, Lucifer; they died hating each and every one of us.”

“Not you, brother. If there was one they couldn’t hate, it was you. That, I promise you.”

He turned away, blindly, and Lucifer had the wisdom not to follow. When Beelzebub finally turned back to face his brother, he was once more in control. Only the small trembling of his hands gave pause. “I couldn’t even hold them.”

“None of us could reach them in time.” Lucifer said it so often that a demon lesser than he would believe them.

“It’s not just that. You didn’t see how they were.” An empty sigh rattled his throat. “When I tried to hug them the first time since… they looked at me like I was some kind of monster. Like I would _hurt_ them.”

“But you didn’t,” Lucifer said swiftly, with such conviction that Beel gulped, stared up at him with his mouth open and shaking lashes.

“If I had talked to them and Belphie…”

“No, Beel. You’ve no reason to torment yourself with this while awake, especially when your sleep is so troubled. No one blames you for this, just as no one blamed you for Lilith. Anyone who does will have to answer to me.”

He misread Beel’s startled look. “Of course, the circumstances are vastly different, and I very much doubt they would be pleased to hear it. Even if they heard, I’m sure this is a comparison they would forgive.”

“I know it’s different,” Beel agreed, “and it wasn’t that… it’s that you hardly ever talk about Lilith, at least to the rest of us.”

“I don’t.” Lucifer nodded. “For a long time, it was too painful. It was undoubtedly harder on you and Belphie, considering how close you three were…”

…but you loved her, too. Ah, Lucifer. If you had confessed this to all of us back then, maybe… Beelzebub left that thought unfinished, unwilling to explore farther than that.

“Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that her blood would have found its way to us.” Lucifer shook his head. “The fault is not yours to shoulder, Beel. If anything, it’s my failure. They would likely agree.”

He studied his worn stature and sleep-deprived eyes. “How’s your training?”

“It’s… it just is.”

“I received a notification from your coach. If you want to sit out for the upcoming regionals, I’ll inform him.”

“No.” A hard edge entered his voice. “I’m going. I’ll get it together. I promised Coach I’d participate in the Fangol Tournament.”

You were supposed to cheer for him because you didn’t know what Fangol was and couldn’t stand watching football. You did like the aggressive tackles they did on rugby, which was more or less the same thing and he was supposed to ask you. He wanted to believe that if he did, you would’ve said yes.

Just another promise aborted before it could be made, really.

“I know you were close to them. But there’s danger in letting your grieving go out of control, when the dead appears more real than the living.” Lucifer placed a hand on his shoulders.

“I know.” His voice carried the uneven husk of unhealed wounds.

“Where’s Belphie?”

“He said he was going to the library, but Asmo was just there and he didn’t see him.”

“Send him a message. He’ll respond to you the fastest.”

* * *

“I have to admit, it’s a surprise to see you here. You can have my seat, I was just about to leave.”

“Don’t bother. I came for you.”

“That’s news,” Solomon chuckled, closing his book, “considering your feelings towards me and humans in general. What does the Avatar of Sloth have to say to me?”

The few demons loitering about in the restricted section of the campus library stopped to observe, some squeamish, most covertly amused and eager for a potential brawl between the first human exchange student and his latest conquest.

“Not here.”

“Then we’re at an impasse.” He had already swept everything back into his bag and straightened his tie. “For I would rather be in the presence of adoring onlookers if you wish to converse, for my time is in short supply.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I am aware.” His eyes twinkled with a shrewd ambiguity that reminded Belphegor too much of a certain brother. “So many of your brothers have taken a cutting interest in me and my activities within and beyond campus, I’m almost thankful for the boundaries cast on Purgatory Hall. But I have no quarrel with you so far as I remember.”

Slippery bastard; Belphegor was already regretting his decision. He should’ve known Solomon was the last person to get any kind of answers—even if he knew what questions to ask with others present (he didn’t), the human could simply invoke the pact to nullify any power he exerted.

“Just what are you up to…?” he ground out between his teeth.

That Solomon knew, there was no doubt. But that only opened the gateway to infinite uncertainties: what would he do with that knowledge? Barbatos, who could see and manipulate realities on a whim, would easily have been the primary candidate tasked to keep a careful eye, but Solomon was too versed in the artistry to pact-forging to let slip a single detail more than he intended to the demon, exploiting loopholes even Barbatos didn’t know existed.

If Lucifer and even Barbatos couldn’t pry out useful information, what chance did the lastborn have?

“I am on my way to meet Lord Diavolo since he has requested my presence. Might I pass… Council Officer?”

His eyes narrowed. This was why he hated humans. As if he read his mind, Solomon smiled, catlike.

“I think it’s in both our interests to respond to the Council President’s summons in a timely manner. I would hate to follow the same way our other human exchange student had gone, don’t you think? _Exile_ is a… strict penalty.”

The students buzzed; so it was true! Eyes landed on Belphegor, wondering how he’d respond. One overenthusiastic demon betted that it would take less than a minute for Belphegor to lose complete control before being beaten down by the pact he must have been tricked into.

“I admit, I still do not understand why you bar my path.”

“Watch yourself, human. That attitude of yours will get you in trouble you won’t be able to magick yourself out of. You might end up with enemies you’d rather not have.”

Solomon looked amused, his eyes taking on a golden glow. “Ah, but what could one more enemy matter to you,” he dropped his voice, “when you have already made so many with your actions?”

Seeing him provoked beyond endurance, Solomon stepped aside with a wide smile. A small part of him wondered if you would’ve liked the face the demon was making right now, a face that forgot that there was an attentive audience hoping for the thrill of watching open confrontation unfold.

“Belphie!”

The sorcerer gave a polite bow to the well-timed arrival of the Vice-President, in front of whom even the Avatar of Sloth wouldn’t be so reckless to cause a scene.

“Oh, so he was in the library. But I looked everywhere for him! How would I know he'd be with Solomon?”

“Clearly you didn't try hard enough, Asmo,” Beel muttered.

“Belphie,” Lucifer repeated, taking an irate step. “You were to attend today's counselling session an hour ago.”

One look from Lucifer was all Beel needed before he nudged Asmodeus, both of them committing themselves towards crowd control. Disappointment rolled off the student body as they were herded out of the potential battlefield. After sending off Solomon with a smile and wave, the two brothers wearily approached to alleviate the stalemate.

“Lucifer, Belphie was tired. I… I kept him up last night.”

“You don’t have to defend me, Beel.” He shook off his restraining hand to face his eldest brother. “Yeah, I didn’t go. It’s a waste of time.”

“Indeed?” His voice frosted. “Tell me, little brother: if I hadn’t intervened, would the remaining _human_ exchange student have emerged from his encounter with you unscathed?”

“Not if he talked up properly.” It was a partial truth.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll say so again, Belphegor. You are in a precarious position and it’s all that Diavolo and I can do to maintain the current peace over RAD. I cannot have you… acting out, including harassing other students without reason.”

As if Lucifer hadn’t been doing the same thing. “If you expect me to sit and do nothing, you might as well shove me back in the attic.”

Lucifer pressed his lips into a line. “If Diavolo deems you a threat to the other students of RAD—no, the whole Devildom—then you will be shoved into a far worse place. You know this as well as I.”

“Belphie, let’s go home,” Beel pleaded.

“We’re not going to get anywhere here.” Asmodeus supplemented.

Belphegor raised his head; he didn’t realize he had been staring at the carpeted floor. “And what’ll change back in Lamentation?” The shallowly buried resentment, the awkward dynamics of brotherly ties once thought unchanging, the wreck your death had created, the death that none would let him forget was his most grievous fault. “You’re saying I shouldn’t even try to fix what I did?”

“This isn’t helping, Belphie.” Asmodeus raised a hand over his tired eyes. “Even us demons can’t ‘fix’ what’s been done.”

“Don’t lie to me, Asmo!”

Anger stirred too easily these weeks, restrained and strained nerves seeking freedom in rage that could override grief and regret, if only for a moment. Knowing this, Lucifer took a deep breath, said with breaking serenity, “It is nothing you should concern yourself with.”

“Damnation, the last time you kept everything to yourself, _this_ happened!” Belphegor lashed out, unable to hold back any longer. “You think I wouldn’t know? Trying to do the impossible, bringing souls from the brink of death, like you did with—”

“That was different.” Lucifer cut him off with a gesture, rage muted by the memory. “She hadn’t completely died and that made all the difference.”

“If you or Diavolo can’t make the miracle happen a second time, who else could and would do it if not Solomon?”

“And threatening him was your way of ‘persuading’ him into committing an act that, if possible, would result in grave repercussions for everyone in the Devildom? Do you even know how much Diavolo risked for our family?”

“Why can’t I at least make up for this mess by helping?”

_“Help? You??”_

If Belphegor hadn’t noticed the escalating bafflement, he certainly noticed the blast of power that sent his body flying into a bookcase. Covers and pages rained down, creating clouds of dust upon impact.

Asmodeus stared above him, hair dishevelled in fingers trembling with rage.

“And what have you done so far, Belphie, that has been of any help to us? To them?” His words cracked like a whip, stinging all the more for being long repressed. “Will you help the same way you did to them? Driving them to broken necks and revelling in the success of your dream that no sane human would want to come to the Devildom ever again? Dance on the ruins of the exchange program Lord Diavolo had created?”

“Asmo…” Unable to say more than his name, Beel reached for his twin, only to be stopped by the restraining arm of a silent Lucifer. As for Belphegor, he remembered the last time Asmo had lost his temper with humorous consequences, but there was nothing amusing about the way his brother glared at him now.

“You’ve reduced grief to an inconvenience and think this is just another step before a miracle happens. How much would you commit, brother? And think before you say because I **will** remember. Dare to tell me what you will give up to bring them back to life. Dare to tell me you would storm the Heavenly Gates to face their soul.” He delivered the final blow. “Tell me you would confront the wrath of Father Himself if that’s what it took to ‘help’ them.”

When Lucifer spoke his name, Asmodeus said nothing. His face was feverish as he turned and walked away. Only when he was safely outside did he finally exhale, wings blooming behind him as he took flight. The sky was cold as it received the fallen Jewel of the Heavens.

He was bathed in the light of his power but there was no you to hold and play with. The book Satan had lent him described stars as the spirits of humans who had earned their place beyond the horizon. If they had voices, he mused, they would have your laugh.

You may have been relieved if you knew his nights carved your images with a kinder hand. Yet who could he tell that you claimed his dreams as your own, a ruthlessly tender ghost who led him back into the past, breathed life into starlit memories as if they had never been scarred, and then vanished at daybreak, leaving him to awaken alone and face the reinforced reality of your absence?

Back among the scattered pages, Lucifer said nothing. His face remained impassive as Belphegor shook off Beel’s steadying hand and stood because nothing had to be said.

Lucifer didn’t need to tell him he never feared that his brother was in any real danger from Asmodeus’ outburst; the latter hadn’t even shifted to demon form to get his point across. A point that none refuted, not even Beel.

“Don’t miss the next one. That’s your final warning.” Exhaustion seeped through his tone. “Take him home.” 

* * *

Getting better at bargaining meant reading the terms and conditions and asking very specific questions to make sure it wouldn't bite you in the ass later.

𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤. 𝕀 𝕟𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕡𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝕠𝕗.

_Even if, by some magical force you were brought back to life?_

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟. 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕨𝕟.

_It’s always been my own. Now, what if something happened where I had to save my family or your family, would you retake your power and—_

Exasperation prodded at you like an aura. 𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤.

Hmph.

But a tempting choice, still. The concept of time whittled at your resolve, softening harsh lines into accommodating crinkles. Was it your neighbour or uncle who said you would regret the chances you didn’t take? Both were too stupid to have come up with that quote themselves.

_What can I do with your power?_

𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖, 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣, she replied. 𝕀 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕕𝕒𝕡𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕨𝕟, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘, 𝕚𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝕚𝕥?

_Not when I might die._

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥.

You were, as always, indecisive. It was hypocritical of you; you reserved a special kind of hate for the wishy-washy. Blind instinct; that was the key. Humans were animals, animals wore their instinct like a second skin and instinct—

Your vision blurred, but an instant was all it took for everything to melt away so seamlessly you could’ve sworn everything was simply another kernel of memory that had slipped through your grasp.

**Did you doubt I would come?**

You stared at him. His form was fogged and you doubted your senses. But there was a connection that kept your vision from obscuring completely. The word was called _favour._

_Did you think I would?_

He grinned, shook his head. He really was beautiful. **What is it?**

_Why are you doing this for me? The favour can’t possibly account for all of this._

**What if it indeed does?**

_If it was, you’d be a lot smugger about it. Smugger? Is that even a word?_

**No.**

_Too bad, I just decided it is. Now it’s a word._

**Does the loss of your memories bother you?**

_What’s it to you?_

**It seems that it doesn’t if you simply create new words to replace the lost.**

_Do you come here just to annoy me?_

**A curious question. Do you have a specific answer you want to hear?**

Now you could see him with a degree of clarity. Yep, still annoying as always. _You’re not going to come here again, are you?_

**Would you like me to?**

You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to think of Lilith around him. An unfinished sentence lingered, waiting for you to complete it. Nope, didn’t want to think of that either. You didn’t want to think at all. You noticed that he sat beside you, enrobed in black silks and glittering ornaments adorning his chest, his waist, a single crystal. When you had a form of your own, did you look similar to him?

_That’s pretty._

**Thank you.** He smiled one of those elusive smiles, like an inside joke. **They were a gift from someone special.**

_At least I know you’re not single._

**When did I say that?**

What were you supposed to expect when he said something like that?

**Did you say something?**

_No, I didn’t. I was wondering where lost memories go._

**A question for the prophets.**

_I guess you wouldn’t know. You remember everything._

**More than most, perhaps.**

_You remember enough to come here and that’s more than me. Go ahead, rub it in._

Solomon did not rub it in. Instead, he scooted closer, turning to you with the strangest of faces. Like he was concentrating on a spell while trying to hold in a fart simultaneously after two bowls of chilli con carne.

Hol’ up—now you were concerned. Concentrating on what was left of your might, you tried to remember, growing more disconcerted with each fruitless moment. Light fluctuated about you, mirroring your unease. Wait, why? Why couldn’t you remember?

 **Something troubling you?** He asked at last.

_I can’t remember._

**Who?**

He didn’t need to know you were trying to remember what chilli tasted like. Surely you must’ve had pizza enough times to remember the texture on a whim! Forcing down your panic at this new facet of your predicament, you faced the boy.

_Tell me who I should remember that both of us know._

**If you came with me, I wouldn’t have to.**

_So you’re not going to tell me?_

**Not here,** he explained patiently. **Names have power.**

_Why?_

**It simply is, like the stars.**

_Do you have one in your hand? You keep looking at it._

**This is just a ring.**

_Shouldn’t you go back to your lover then?_

**Who said a ring is only for a show of romantic commitment?**

_You’re… a real asshole, pal._ He must be someone important to you though if he kept coming like this.

 **Yes, I know.** He was laughing. **You told me so before.**

_Clearly I didn’t tell you enough if it didn’t curb your fuckery._

This presumably inconsequential dialogue continued until you ran out of things to say—or rather, you ran out of thoughts you were comfortable sharing. You clung to the tatters of your oldest, most ingrained recollections like a decaying album of keepsakes as if snatching every old memory that resurfaced wouldn’t become confusing puzzles of their own, devoid of context and emotion.

**Are you going to leave now?**

You felt the creeping undertow that took away more of you with each pull and wondered, why had you accepted this?

It was an insult to your memory, forgetting the ones who truly cared for you (you _must_ have had some, even if their faces were indistinct shapes of warmth) while this… enigmatic piece of shit took up all your space. Was he someone important enough to be the last face you saw?

 _—wanted to live—_ **_No, no he was not._ **

_Favour._

He was on his feet with feline grace, beckoning as if he had never doubted this outcome. **Then, take my hand.**

The sentence was complete but you still had more to ask. _What favour would you want back?_

**Perhaps a smile.**

You had moved toward him before you realized it. A sensation of warmth washed over as you connected. Was it his doing or yours?

**We cannot rewrite the stars but we have always thrived off the insolence of interpreting them our way.**

_Don’t be vague, you—_

* * *

The irony wasn’t lost on Belphegor as he reached for another pillow to prop himself up. That his prison would now become the one haven where no one would come hound him; one way or another, he always seemed to end up as the punchline of some joke or other, and not even the funny ones like Mammon.

Sloth was his domain, dreams a byproduct that he could only stifle through extreme exhaustion. But he couldn’t let Beel face the nightmares alone… and dreams were the only place where he could see you.

The worst nightmares weren’t angels and monstrosities chasing after him, devouring him whole. It always started as a good dream, taking on the contours of nostalgia native to what humans called ‘memory lane’. He was certain this was taken from Beel’s memories, for it felt like such a kind dream.

You smiled, even laughed sometimes. He had to remind himself of his guilt, that all your brightest moments he witnessed had been for his brother. There was no tenderness given to him after the first time he had deceived you.

No, that wasn’t strictly true. You had smiled his way in some conversations when there had been a door in between. Back when you were a rounded person—an asshole, but better than what was left after the betrayal he had inflicted on you.

But the moment he himself became immersed in bliss—the instant he closed his hand around a strand of happiness, it ruined everything. The attic door that kept him sealed, broken into pieces. The gore didn’t disturb him nearly as much as the face you made when his eyes linked to yours. Sometimes you were sobbing, calling him ‘Beel’ in heartbreak. There were times you made no noise at all as you went slack. The worst was when you were laughing at him, baiting him with snuffed memories that unfolded themselves in hideous exhibition.

_Watchu gon’ do with those claws? Gonna strangle me? Better make it count. Better kill me before I pop up again, you silly cunt. Put me to the fucking ground, why don’t you?_

And then he did, as certain as a pact.

On the rare occasion that the attic door held, he stuck his fingers through the gaps and you’d let him touch your face, your hands. Those only occurred after empty, lost days that tightened around his neck like a noose, tempting him to surrender into hopelessness.

Because how could hope be crushed if it wasn’t there?

The slivers of promise where you smiled for him and him alone, he ate it up knowing it would deepen the gaping wound in the morning. Or maybe he did it _because_ it would hurt—because your mirage bestowed them upon him.

He who betrayed you was now betrayed by his own mind every night, which was arguably one of the worst forms of psychological torture. And the thing about this was: if one kept dreaming such dreams, one naturally ended up unable to believe in anything. All expectations, gone.

The catch was, he kept getting betrayed in that dream… but he still wanted to believe. He wanted to keep hoping that, in some way, he could be forgiven…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dumbass thought obeyMAX was some kind of card higher than UR/UR+  
> actually I still don't know wtf it is  
> tfw you server-hop on discord only to dip when you realize the number of Belphegor simps who may or may not roast me alive  
> quarantine's slapped me upside the head and old kpop music videos are the only distractions  
> do i have the emotional range of a lamp or what  
> grammarly tone detector deemed this note as 'neutral'  
> same  
> * = Quote by George Eliot


	14. Rekt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between the highs and lows of emotion, the mundane details of life continue their course.  
> It frustrated you to not have a voice that wasn't bestowed upon you by another.  
> No one wants to think about the “why” unless it involves themselves.  
> It was so easy to get mad when you realized that nothing changed the way you wanted it to.  
> And yet, somehow in the chaos, there is a fleeting peace that beckons for you to catch it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the chapter title reflective of the update or my mind? **Yes**  
>  Thank you ForeverAlone5 for the beta-reading, encouragement, and standing witness as I flounder about  
> I should really have something else to say but ever since I got my third job I can only tell myself _that's rough, buddy_  
>  Thank you guys always for you everlasting patience and comments because I'm just about ready to pull an MC and yeet myself into the void  
> Too soon?

**< Lucifer**

_Hello Lucifer._

_Luke made some cakes he’d like to give as an offering._

_May I stop by after class?_

_Mammon is currently in. Drop them off at the front door if you must._

_But Luke stressed that I personally see them placed before the tomb._

_I also have some oil fragrances from the Celestial Realm. All contained and sealed, of course._

_I cannot go back to Lamentation until later tonight._

_Cerberus doesn’t take kindly to my brothers, let alone an angel._

_Do not attempt anything reckless such as breaking in._

_Still, I would see them delivered to the intended recipient._

_We mourn them, too. Is that so unreasonable?_

_Have them placed in my office._

_If you specify who they’re meant for, not even Beel would touch them._

_I will see to the rest._

_Excuse me. I have a meeting shortly._

* * *

A whiff of grease from the kitchen twined above the laden table in the Hall of Lamentation, strange contrast to the cloying flower-petal incense that hung on Asmodeus’ hair and shoulders. Open shutters emitted late moonlight that gave the walls a sheen, glaring from the polished tableware and the delicacies that provided the brothers their evening sustenance.

Ristorante Six never lacked for quality even in their takeout, especially when the customer was an esteemed Avatar. Blood Shrimp with chestnuts, braised Nyx Bat that slid off the bone, charcoal-grilled _Mobula mobular_ with Boudin Noir.

Satan could find no fault in the culinary crafts as he supped amongst his brothers, all the while wondering what Lucifer had to say. It must be something important if the meal was this extravagant… and if everyone was in attendance.

“Could you pass the butter?”

A spoon clattered against a bowl as Asmodeus broke his conversation to oblige his brother.

“Thanks.”

The silence rolled past him as Satan took a generous dab. Silence was all too common with the brothers these days save for the occasional academic or work-related chatter. There wasn’t much else to discuss otherwise that was safe, kept shallowly buried the other topics that had yet to lose the edge of pain.

Even the irrepressible Mammon preferred being mute on the subject that kept a vice grip on them all. Knowing that Lucifer had removed your chair from the table ages ago, he still looked to where you would’ve—should’ve—sat. You should’ve been here, winking at him before bouncing a tomato off of Levi’s head, watching the arguments unfold before ‘fessing up and taking in Lucifer’s rebuke into one ear and out the other.

Oh, he still remembered the big things you did, with bringing the family back together and all (before it ended up like, well, you knew), finding his Goldie, and your goal(?) to pact with all of his brothers. No one told him he’d see you in the little details of an everyday life he constantly remembered that he had taken for granted that you would be present for.

“Mammon.”

He pushed his food about his plate, a prisoner of his mind. His eyes were creased, betrayed too many late nights and sleepless dawns, and not just because of the witches he was bound to.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.” He looked up. “Uh…”

“Told you he wasn’t paying attention,” Satan sipped his cup. “Everyone’s sort of listening now so might as well start, Lucifer.”

Having long finished his own meal, Lucifer waited, his face carefully arranged to give off the neutral impression of the firstborn, leaving no room to reveal an inkling of fear. His pride would never see him confess how haunted he was at night by the stricken imagery of his brothers who each retreated to a place he couldn’t seem to follow.

“I see no reason to draw this out,” he began. “We have been summoned to Lord Diavolo’s castle to discuss the changes to the exchange program at the end of this week.”

Well, that wasn’t such terrible news. “Why do we have to go all the way over there? Why not RAD?”

He acknowledged Leviathan’s inquiry with a nod. “Diavolo has suggested that we take this opportunity to take several days of leisure at his residence as well.”

So an R&R of sorts; made sense. This _was_ Lord Diavolo, though, and his preaching always carried an angle, a hook that befitted his plans in the long term. “Is that the only reason?” Belphegor dared to ask.

Beelzebub put his spoon down, stiffening in anticipation. Nowadays everything his twin said seemed to be registered as an annoyance at best, a trigger at worst. Mammon didn’t even raise his head up from his plate. Asmodeus took a long swig from his cup.

“The other issue we have to consult with him… is when the body should be returned to the human world.”

Leviathan gagged, swallowed the mouthful of food that had threatened to make a surprise reappearance out his lips. Lucifer made no comment, allowing the statement to sink in as tension reared its head.

“No,” he croaked, your first, the first to regain his voice at this news. Didn’t he—they— ** _he_** —lose enough of you already?

“That’s fair. They would want their remains to be handled by human traditions back in their realm. But…” Satan trailed off, not sure how to counter. Frustrated, he turned to the others, felt little comfort that they were just as unenthusiastic.

It was selfish, of course, to want to keep your body with them. But wasn’t it morbidly hilarious as well? The ‘you’ that they missed was the part that enshrined your vicious desperation, near-suicidal courage, and, well, your humanity, for lack of a better word. To them, all that remained of your existence was the haunting echoes found in restless dreams and your physical remains kept in the impenetrable fortress underground.

Belphegor developed a sudden interest in the hem of the tablecloth, allowing his brothers’ words to flow past him unheeded. No, it shouldn’t end like this. If you went back to the human world, you would… you had mentioned a family. Your family, who would bury you and you would return to dirt and dust. He bit his lip, forcing himself to remain still.

He wasn’t the Avatar of Pride. What dignity did he have any right to keep?

“And their room?” Mammon was asking with a rising voice. “Are you going to destroy that, too?”

“Stand down, Mammon.”

“How do you expect me to… you’re tellin’ us to send them off, goodbye, just like that?”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “This isn’t up for discussion. The only question is a matter of when; the decision has already been made.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us before that?” Beelzebub asked in a hollow hurting sound. “If they—the body goes away, it feels like having to…”

 _…say goodbye all over again,_ Belphie felt the end of the sentence in his mind. Even if it was just a soulless husk because that was all that was left to the brothers.

“Beel,” Lucifer cushioned his tone. “It’s for the best.”

“Says _who?!”_ Mammon gulped back his fear, chair shoved back as his face splotched with uneven colour. “How is it best for any of us to never see them again? Does Diavolo’s command matter that much to you?”

Watching Lucifer stare back without a response, Belphegor stifled his own surge of emotion, recalling a similar vein of conversation that had landed him in captivity. Lilith, you… he failed everyone so what did the differences matter in the end? Several times he opened his mouth; each time he held his tongue, reminding himself that he wasn’t able to _help._

“Hey, at least here, they’re… safe. What I mean is,” Leviathan flustered, “What better place to safeguard them from demons that might try to eat them?”

“Exactly! And yer sayin’ we’re gonna let them disappear again? I won’t have it! I won’t!”

“ **Mammon.** ” His words were unforgiving as he looked down into the tense, trembling face. “You’ll have what I give you… and that will be enough. No more,” he said with even severity, “and no less.”

Mammon drew a sharp gasp, mouth contorting into an inscrutable twist as he turned away, plopping back down to his chair.

Another silence fell in the room, overwhelming in its absolution. Even Asmodeus dared not make a sound. All of them were shaken, for none had seen the two eldest quarrel with such intensity in the presence of all. Mammon, for his part, forced himself back from the deepest crevices of a rage blind to consequence, refused to face the rest of his brothers. Lucifer’s next words, however, stabbed deeper.

“Have all of you forgotten that they have a family, too?”

Unwilling to admit it, Mammon turned his head aside, trying to remember bits and pieces of conversations that you might’ve mentioned such a thing.

 _Family._ You had never let them touch yours.

* * *

!@#%&$~!!

Oh man, this wasn’t good.

You went from the numbing calm that beckoned to embrace the yawn of the void, to a sensory overload that turned everything to mush, microwaving your insides and chewing them into the consistency of three-day-old oatmeal before being spat out. It wasn’t pain; the bombardment of stimulations delved deeper than that. If it was merely mindless agony, you would simply wish for it to stop. Through the raw surcharge, you remembered you had also wanted to slap Solomon across the face. He _annoyed_ you so much that you couldn’t forget the bastard’s name.

“Sons sired of Shadows, hear me and shroud my soul. Daughters of Darkness, I call upon thee to deflect your number who may bear witness to the presence of me and mine.”

Where was his voice coming from? Something constricted around you, a vacuum forcing you up into an upright position like a tangible being. You had to scream. You must. You may not have had a mouth but you would make yourself be heard if they were going to grate under your nonexistent skin like this.

“Umph!”

A ripple of warmth passed, and your vision cleared into startling clarity. The world converged around you in high resolution, threatening to overwhelm you. Candles flickered. You smelled—what was this, licorice? Drinking in the surroundings, you absorbed things whose matching words you found with a remarkable lack of difficulty.

“What in the piss.”

Ugh! That voice! You flinched; it came from you but it still sounded like that of a stranger. Immaterial chips of matter tingled through you, magic lost in the saturation that followed the initial discharge. This was not altogether an unfamiliar sight; at least, not an unfamiliar face.

Well. You had a voice now, even though you could never accept it as yours.

“Let my words become the countermelody that disarms and shields. Through it, may freedom be fortified against all bindings.”

You glowered at him… until you followed where he waved his hands, a luminous hexagram seared into the floor beneath you, encapsulated in an unbroken ring. Before you could decipher each rune woven into each point, they disappeared, leaving only the circle. A summoning.

“That should do.” He buckled into his chair. This intrigued you; have you ever seen him winded? “Give me a moment.”

“Like I have a choice.”

“I suggest you don’t step out of the circle unless you want to alert all of the demons to your reappearance. Which,” he contemplated aloud, “would cause quite the spectacle, I imagine.”

You stared as the weight of his words sank in with the chaos of memory that roared into a savage spectrum. This was where you had spent your most recent living days, and the memories you had attached to this realm came first, glossed with emotion that crushed your initial vigour with horrifying pace.

He said something. It must have been your name for him to say it with such concern if that was what it was.

You clawed at the illusions, fighting the ghosts who hurt you, stealing your purpose, threatening to consume you. Scenery whizzed past in a spectacular blur with smudges of faces that mocked you with distinct laughs.

A coating, dense as cloth, wrapped around your familiar thoughts. The lessons of demons and war, the rebellious search for belonging and the self amongst this academy, and the warmth of gratitude beckoned through the alien presence that enwrapped like a spider.

Solomon wisely said nothing, watched you with curious, almost expectant eyes. Catching his own breath, he continued to observe you as you shuddered and struggled against your phantoms, burdens that no normal human should have had to bear. He told himself he wasn’t surprised when you calmed, a dark gleam aging your spectral complexion.

“This sucks.”

“How much do you remember?”

“Not… I guess enough,” you replied. “Why do I sound like this? Why do I _look_ like this?” Waving your translucent hands.

“Summoning circles recall your most recent form.” He gave a weary grin. “I admit, I was worried about applying the same theories to a human soul, but then… you’re consistent in your unpredictability, especially in the Devildom.”

“And if it didn’t work?”

“There are a thousand different ‘if’s but the singular truth is: you are here and somehow retaining enough memory and shape.” You met dark, slitted eyes more pupil than white, a gaze that sought answers you didn’t know how to give. “How did you manage to keep them from drifting away?”

“Got lucky.” You weren’t letting him change the subject that easily. “Still doesn’t change that you could’ve screwed up.”

“That’s true, it doesn’t.” He looked back, impudently calm. “What now?”

As if you weren’t sick of everyone gambling with your life. Still, unlike certain ones, he delivered. And… you would respect him for that if nothing else. “Now, I thank you.” You’d kick him later.

“You’re most welcome,” he stooped in a graceful bow, “but your gratitude appears to be… premature. Do you not notice something lacking?”

You snorted. “Guess the Formula of Accordion or whatever didn’t cover a physical body.” Straight-up Monkey’s Hand style. Jackass genie salmon fucker. “At least I can haunt people as a ghost.”

“But you’re not a ghost.”

Oh, really? You pretended to think, turning away from him for several moments before… “Boo!”

Silence. You drew back.

“Duh, you wouldn’t be scared of ghosts.” You huffed. “So what am I, then?” Desperate to change the subject.

“You can return to the body you left. A soul becomes a ghost when that’s no longer an option but chooses to linger.”

“Let me get this straight,” you waved. “So you could bring me back… just not back to my…” Eh, _body_ sounded morbid and you didn’t want to call it a _corpse._ “…flesh construct?”

“Pfft.”

“Ha-ha. I know. Hilarious.”

“If you step out of that circle and call on your pacts by name, do you know what would happen?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“It’s relevant. Trust me. See, if you made your presence known… they’d rejoice. They’d exhaust the full extent of their powers, all of them, to make the transition back into your body as smoothly as possible. It wouldn’t be impossible to imagine even Lucifer offering to pact with you just to make sure you never slip out of sight ever again.”

You bristled like instinct. Memories were still shaky, but you remembered enough. It wasn’t even one thing after another. The damn things overlapped, churning and swirling as the blender of your mind fought to make sense of it all. But you remembered this: faces in smiling oblivion, so eager to sweep everything under the rug, leaving you behind and expecting you to follow. This was one thing you wouldn’t hand over so easily. Not again.

Before you could mull over the difficulties, you blurted out, “I’ll do it myself.”

He let your impulse hang in the air before arising from his chair. “How do you intend to do that?”

You threw up your hands, sending ghostly confetti-like shards of your essence. “With my plan, what else?”

“And what is your brilliant plan to reclaim your ‘flesh construct’ without any external help whatsoever?”

“It’s the simplest plan, really.” You twirled your fingers. “I just… go out and make something happen. You know?”

He didn’t laugh. Actually, he looked rather perturbed. “That’s disappointing.”

Awkward; what were you supposed to say to that? Did he want an apology? “Um, okay. At least it’ll be interesting. ‘Sides, why do you care? Your part’s done. Favour’s done, isn’t it?”

“If you’d so readily throw away your life once more then why did you bother to come back?” There was no humour in his face, fabricated or otherwise, as he regarded you. “What was your objective?”

And who the fuck was he to lecture you? Anger embraced you like an old friend, lending you its familiar strength. “You’re one to talk.”

“Have you forgotten where we are?” A gesture flourished, the summoned tome floating above his outstretched hand. “This is no place for a human soul to wander alone unless you want to be devoured. Yet I couldn’t have brought you back if you didn’t accept my hand of your own will. Did you come here to face the ignominious end of ending in the stomach of a demon? Truly?”

God, you hated it when people were insufferably right. “No, I came here just to annoy you back. And wow, looks like it’s working!” You sheathed your sarcasm. “Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it?”

“You cannot do this alone. There is no shame in acknowledging you need help.”

“The shame is in you knowing that as well and expecting me to express everything so you don’t have to! Just like the rest of them!” You forgot that you kinda owed him your literal life, the scrape of memory aggravating your temper. “If I’m expected to go back to being the utter helpless tool I was before, then hell yeah I’d rather go out again!”

That gave Solomon pause, but he didn't show it. “Then why did you come back?”

For your people, because you were too selfish to let them go. For those you couldn’t stop caring about, in this world and the next. For… a chance to not let history repeat even if the verses had to rhyme. Subsiding into the confines of your circle, you kept your mouth shut as you crouched and fumed.

“May I ask you one more thing?”

Your eyes seared into his, promising nothing.

“Where you were… was there something else with you?”

“Why? Oh, I suppose… the angels!” You gasped. “The wheels!”

* * *

It felt so pointless sometimes, but never enough for him to leave everything behind. He had already done that before and what had it cost?

Humans were versatile, he knew. You had a lot to say when you were inducted into the exchange program, and not all of the words were pleasant. But you had adapted ( _too_ well, he had thought sometimes) but you had your limits. A careless oversight, the last mistake of him underestimating them and you. Your words commanded his thoughts, daring him to face vindication.

_You are the most incompetent demon I’ve met, who had to be stopped from killing me himself._

The words in his dreams turned his sin against him. Had he not tried? You had your pride, too; a pride he had never touched because he knew too well the pains of standing for one’s family and principles. He had wanted to tell you he understood.

He had wanted to see you smile again, even if he would never be its cause. You didn’t hear the intense conversation he had with Diavolo, the apology he received from his friend with the promise that your family would remain uninvolved. There was no way you would’ve known the tongue-lashing he dealt to Belphegor upon witnessing the wrenching aftermath of your disastrous encounter with him, the various methods he had devised to make his brothers understand, to protect you with the brothers you could still derive happiness with knowing that he had lost that privilege long ago.

There were a lot of things beyond your scope of comprehension. He had hidden his feelings so skilfully that you lived and died not knowing. It was an accomplishment that, try as he could, carried no triumph.

Not that his pride would let him admit this.

But he made no objection when his brothers sought to make up for their failures to you when you lived. He feigned ignorance when he took Cerberus out, taking the noble beast on the longest walks that his workload would allow. He made no comment on the fresh variation of offerings, the changed candles that encircled your coffin with pinpoints of amber flame, the flurry of activity that had taken to enrich your resting place while the tomb was unsupervised.

_Their blood is on your hands. I knew you would kill them in the end, demon._

He drew in his breath. Had the Chihuahua shredded his nerves this thin? The yapping of Celestial dogma was nothing more than an inconsequential nuisance that shouldn’t have burned him to the core. Then again, he had thought the same for your presence in the beginning, no?

He was alone with your remains and the loss of your life plunged into him—when he turned to ask you for answers, when he sought your presence to ensure your safety, he was reminded time and again that you weren’t actually here, leaving him with the bitter mouthful of broken pride.

In the main hall of the underground tomb lay the stone effigy of Lilith, for they could not bury her body. But here, you lay as though asleep. Satan’s store of knowledge had always been admirable, but the spells that circled the open coffin, protecting the body from physical decay?

It was as impressive as what Lucifer himself had cast, an enchantment that prevented any demon from laying a finger on your flesh. For your sake, he said, as well as theirs.

Watching your sunken eyelids and white fingers knotted over the garments Asmo had dressed you in, he knew he would need no statue. He didn’t want his brothers to look at the face they had so cared for etched onto lifeless marble. And—he confided to himself only—you would hate it, wouldn't you? To be in a place as desolate as this even in sculpted portrayal—with Lilith, whose shadow you fought to escape with your life.

“I’d like some privacy.”

He almost welcomed the curt words that snapped him back to reality. Any other brother, he would’ve respected the request. “I cannot do that, Belphie,” he said, bracing himself for the brunt of another confrontation.

It didn’t come. “No, I suppose you can’t… and _they_ wouldn’t want to be alone with me, either,” he slumped with composure borne of exhaustion. “Forget I said anything.”

He retrained his gaze back to your features. Too many regrettable deaths, uncounted details he wished he could retract, and still he had no answers. Sloth tempted capitulation, urging him to embrace the peculiar addiction of the grief that came in hand with resignation.

What stopped him? Several reasons, Lucifer speculated. Few things moved the Avatar of Sloth to repeated efforts, ineffectual as they were. Penance, most likely, but to whom did it mean the most?

Several (Devildom) months and everyone still grieved for you. But strained as relations had become, it had never occurred to any of the brothers to irreversibly sever the bonds binding them to Belphegor. Few ties were stronger than their brotherhood, especially those that withstood the condemnation of their Father. Even with Belphegor’s actions, Lucifer would never abandon his kin.

However, he wouldn’t delude himself that the strain would settle for a long time. No affection could survive unscathed from such an ordeal as that. Knowing this worsened the depressive atmosphere that plagued the House of Lamentation.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” As if repeating it enough would make a difference. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I killed you. I’m sorry I didn’t try enough when you could still hear me.” Satan had told him being sorry for ‘everything’ was too vague.

_You’re not truly sorry until you lay out everything you’re sorry for and holding each bit up to the light._

Was there no way? After the second month, Belphegor was inclined to agree with his brothers that no, there wasn’t.

There were too many questions that remained unanswered, only guesses. If no explicit message from the Celestial Realm concerning this affair reached the Devildom, then Lucifer had to assume they didn’t know or were keeping quiet… for what? Simeon was no help at all, only stating that Michael had made no comment of the sort. If Solomon had more insight, he didn’t share even with Asmodeus as he evaded all questions with uncooperative courtesy.

With the mighty powers of Diavolo and Barbatos rendered ineffective, the residents of Purgatory Hall unresponsive, there was no reason for Lucifer to do anything but accept the events as he always did, bearing what he could as he led the rest of his brothers through their anguish. Belphegor would have to understand, too.

“Belphegor. I have a question for you.”

He gave no answer.

“I need to know. Do you still hate humans?”

“…what does it matter anymore?”

Lucifer said nothing, turning a measuring stare as he sucked in a deep breath and loosed it slowly through his nose. Of course it mattered. Traces that you had ever existed in the House of Lamentation as more than a symbol of thwarted remorse were nonexistent, the last memories of you locked in obscured grief and sleepless nights. It mattered in the way each of them revered Lilith’s tomb though it would never house its intended body.

“Let me rephrase it this way,” Lucifer mused after a silence. “Would you be able to tell them you wished you could take back your impulse to destroy humanity?”

An eternity of fractured thoughts eluded his reach. “If… if I knew back then, with Lilith, I wouldn’t have.”

He stroked his chin. “Would you tell the same thing to Lilith?”

Even after so long, a pang of regret struck Belphegor at the mention of his sister. His face crumpled. “I can’t. That’s different.”

“Perhaps. But Lilith loved humanity, enough to live as one. Diavolo swore to me that she lived as normal as could be, enjoying everything that mortal life had to offer. Her legacy of happiness carried down to her descendant. The humans… the humans made it possible for them to thrive. I cannot forget that, Belphegor.”

Finally, he considered Lucifer’s point and the difficulties it raised, but it still couldn’t erase his original guilt. “If it weren’t for me, then Lilith would never have taken an interest in humans. She might still be alive. But… she was happy. She never stopped loving the human—humans—to her last breath.” A queer sound caught in his throat. “And I ruined it.”

Lucifer made no comment, allowing time for his brother to infer on what had to follow.

“I can’t forgive… I can’t forgive myself.” Love for Lilith that warped his love for humans that threatened to drown him with every breath that he took, breath he took from you because everything came back to him in the end in a never-ending circle of punishment.

He turned towards the brother he once held boundless admiration and respect for. Time had taken its toll on all of them but it placed a special burden on the youngest, and rightfully so. He raised a hand to shield his face. He tried to speak words that refused to convey the limbo of futility he slogged through. “I don’t know anymore. If I’m trying for Lilith, for them… but if I just stop, I’ll…”

“Don’t do this, Belphie.” He made his voice flint lest it crack with weakness that would further break his brother. “They died because…” he gave an unsteady sigh. “…I failed them, too. It wasn’t just you.” Blame me, he thought. Wounded hubris was better than the broken hearts of his family. Blame me for serving Diavolo, for not telling you about Lilith because I knew you would try to see her, for not being enough.

“Lucifer, you still don’t see, do you? If I had shut up and listened, they’d still be alive.”

And there was nothing he could say to that. It was a truth beyond the realms of demon and human morality, blame or innocence, an unquestionably absolute fact that struck Lucifer as a tragedy and, to Belphegor, stood as a judgement without appeal.

* * *

You frowned. “Months?”

He nodded. “How long did you think you were away?”

“Dunno. A few weeks?” You looked about. “Time wasn’t a big concern.”

He raised his eyebrows. Before he could reply, a rattling noise rang through the room. You turned to the source with a snarl ready to throw hands (since you couldn’t throw anything else.) Before you could, the distraught face struck a familiar chord of blue eyes and disarming elegance.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Solomon, but there’s a… oh, my.” His voice grew very soft.

If you had a heart, it would’ve quickened to a wild thumping. His presence didn’t register to you as a threat, but you were uncertain where this was headed, unable to concentrate on a single emotion. Good thing you always had something to say—even if they were useless.

“Uh… hi.” Because what else could you say?

Simeon, who had witnessed, sometimes participated, in numerous events once thought farfetched, was too ageless to cause a scene that would’ve created only senseless noise. It was possible that he even expected this, given his unruffled attitude as he approached with catlike tread, his eyes never leaving your face.

“…”

“You can blink once in a while, I’ll still be here,” was your lame attempt to break the hush; you were becoming antsy. But as soon as you said ‘blink’, you thought of the multitude of spinning, winking eyes that were _supposedly_ the same person standing in front of you and holy fuck if you saw _that_ again something in your mind was going to break beyond hope. Why did he go Old Testament on you if he had a perfectly normal humanoid form?

“Are you so sure about that?” He whispered as if he stood on sacred ground. “You shine like a dream.”

“Maybe I am.”

“If so, then you are a radiant dream.” He shook his head, a lock of hair falling between his eyes. “One that should never end.”

Interesting comment. Were you a soul? Or was this all a dream, to be back among friends disembodied as you were? Were you still you, if that meant anything? Were these memories and recognition of these people yours or were they grafted onto you? Your vision narrowed toward Solomon.

“Simeon,” Solomon interrupted. “What’s going on?”

He drew back. “You have a visitor. He’s waiting outside the gates, should I send him away?” He made a noncommittal gesture, though his expression revealed a complicated expression.

“And if you came without warning, it means that he is… adamant.” Solomon shook his head with a playful smile. “He’s quite persistent; a word I normally wouldn’t associate with Belphegor.” Added almost absently, masking the intrigue to observe what he could accomplish with the mere mention of the name.

Belphegor; an old name for a hated creature. Light fluctuated about, mirroring the turbulence of emotion that resurfaced. Diluted images of curled horns and hateful looks threatened to overwhelm and, momentarily, you forgot all else. The realization that they still stung, especially when you thought you had healed from them, well—it was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Ah!” A sizzling sensation sent you leaping back.

“Don’t want to escape the circle now, do we?” Solomon murmured. “Unless you want him of all demons to find out your resurgence.”

“Probably not,” Simeon agreed. “Then should I see him off?”

“Wait.” You butted in. “What does he want?”

“An audience,” came the helpful reply. “With me.”

You shot him an acrid look before turning right, hoping the angel would be less of a troll. “Do _you_ know what the demon wants from that… piece of shit?”

“He wouldn’t say.” Why did Simeon look to Solomon before answering? Did he need permission? “But he has been coming over quite often.”

You folded your arms. There was certainly no love lost between you and the demon, but a thread of reason pulled you back from the longing to scorn. As erratic as this place had made you, there was somewhere still a remnant of pragmatism that had served you so well in happier days. There had to be, for the last time you did something desperate in the moment that you hadn’t thought through… and no battle, verbal or physical, was won by blind emotion.

You needed information; you didn’t even know _what_ you were, and Solomon… helped you, certainly, but beyond the absolute requisites, he was a wild card and not always reliable, you acknowledged, neutral words lining an uneasy suspicion.

Plus, you did **_not_** like the idea of being circumscribed by the magic of Solomon. Being down to your third (and hopefully the last) life made you thorough with dancing to anyone’s tune except yours. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

“Oh?” Cryptic mirth graced his lips. “Does that mean—”

“No.” You refused to give him the satisfaction of trying to justify yourself with excessive words. “I want to know.”

“Hm, that’s true, you’ve been out of touch for a while,” Simeon interjected. “Solomon, wouldn’t it provide the insight that they need?”

“Mayhaps,” Solomon nodded, appraising you. “Though it would be difficult to maintain the spells on their essence and assert my pact upon Belphegor. I might need you to lend me your powers, Simeon.”

“Of course.”

“Wait, what?” You could barely keep track; it was like they were on their own wavelength, you being able to snatch the peaks and valleys of their esoteric conversation. “I mean, that’s… huh. You’re going to help me that easily?”

Simeon raised his head, tilting it sideways. “Does it offend you?”

“Eh, not exactly, but… why?”

He could touch you; shock splayed across your face as you felt a warm hand on your incorporeal arm, his strength and sureness that flowed into your unembodied substance.

He could’ve said a thousand different answers that you’d have no choice but to accept. Because you were a lost ‘lamb’, because it was an angel’s job to guide souls because back here, you were what you had always been: a human, weakest of them all.

Then you realized as he spoke, words lost to the dark, that it didn’t matter. He’d still help and you would accept—again, with your own reasons: because you had no choice, because you trusted the angel that could turn into an eldritch abomination of wheelie eyes, because you didn’t want to dwell on the details of _why_ you wanted to live when you knew what memories you would have to wade back into and carry for the rest of this life.

“Come. You will be safe nestled under my wings.”

Funny how you believed that without even stopping to question it. You envisioned him busting out in wings and eyes before the demon, which made you laugh. Then you winced.

His ‘wings’ had to be in the metaphorical sense because you couldn’t feel any feathers and all you could see was the peculiar array of colours you remembered seeing behind your eyelids before drifting off to sleep. A warmer place, the sanctuary of an angel.

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see or talk. But for a conversation, all you need to do is listen.”

Fair. Body and facial language were important too, but not worth the risk of discovery. _Simeon? Was that you laughing?_

“Hehe. Yes, forgive me. It still doesn’t seem real… and would it surprise you to know that this isn’t the first time I’ve held you close, albeit in a different form?”

“I remember that as well. Almost strange, the peace of that day. Much like the lull before a storm,” Solomon rejoined.

You heard their shoes clack against the floorboards, increased volume as they descended down the stairs, muted brushes as they shuffled on carpet before the sounds diverged.

“He will come with Belphegor,” he murmured. “How are you feeling?”

You were safe. You were fine. You could’ve done without the memory of the attic. A shiver carried the echo of your ghosts that came in bared teeth and rabid claws. _I’m fine._ What a fucking lie.

Two sets of footsteps justified his sudden silence.

“Why is _he_ here?”

“Simeon lives here as well.”

“I said alone.”

“I asked to be here, Belphegor.” His voice bore the weight of Celestial authority with cordiality. “Be at ease. There’s no one in Purgatory Hall but those who know the truth.”

You waited for the demon to respond, anticipating the evasive pretext or a biting remark. However, you weren’t too surprised when you heard no rebuttal.

“Such a pain.”

“Please, take a seat. Would you like a drink?” Leave it to Simeon to be the classic host even to a demon.

Silence. He probably shook his head. Hurry up and talk already. Was his voice weird because you hadn’t heard it in so long or did he actually grow a pair in the time you took your power nap in God-knows-where?

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Belphegor?” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I hope it’s not about our pact. As per the conditions, it is quite lax.”

“Of which I’m sure you’re upset about.”

“Not at all. A pact with a member of the Council is noteworthy regardless of its nature.”

“Yeah, whatever you say. That’s… not what I’m here for.” A pause. “I think you know that. Why did you suddenly decide to see me now?”

“I was,” Solomon replied with ease the demon lacked, “persuaded. You must forgive my caution after our last encounter, which both of us found quite unpleasant, I assume.”

You made a mental note on that. You probably wouldn’t get straight answers out of anyone, but still.

“Furthermore,” the sorcerer added, “I have a hunch that unlike before, you are here with your own agenda, one that you’re unwilling to share even with your brothers. That makes things… very interesting. All of us here,” you imagined him waving a hand about, “are ready to listen.”

You couldn’t see what they did in between words. Curiosity overrode the fear of ambush as you strained to hear the next words lest you miss them as you perched on the edge of anger that waited to escalate into violence.

“I’ve heard of the stories. Humans coming back from the dead, or… or being reborn. It happened before. And if even Diavolo can’t do it this—in this case, that is—there’s only one person in this realm who can and get away with it.”

“You place a great deal of faith in me, Belphegor.” His tone held a hint of pride, you thought. “So what are you proposing?”

A jolt; your name came out of the demon’s lips with genuine-sounding remorse. It almost stirred you to sympathy.

“…even as a reincarnation, something.”

“You know only Father and His Hand can bring back the dead to true life, Belphegor,” Simeon spoke, traced with pathos. “Even if Solomon _could_ somehow manage to take a soul from the designed endpoints of mortal life, I am bound by honour to stop him from committing such a grave crime.”

“But they’re not!”

“Peace, Belphegor. It’s only the truth.”

“So was what I said! Lucifer scoured the Devildom but nothing, not even as the smallest ghost. And if they were in any of the Celestial Realms, Samael would tell Michael and it wouldn’t be this… quiet. Don’t try to lie to me, Simeon. I remember Michael enough to know he wouldn’t keep quiet about this.”

“I suppose he wouldn’t, no,” the angel conceded, “but what does that change?”

“It… means there’s a chance. The Father doesn’t have to know.”

“I beg your pardon to interrupt, but let’s say for the sake of the conversation that such a ploy is possible. What then? Do you expect them to be grateful to you after being sent… to exile? Assuming that’s still the story.”

Something ran cold as blood. Exile? A cover story? And the question: why was he doing this? Not _altruism._ Hearing him reminded you that all of your past decisions had a point. He must have one, too. Argh! You hated not knowing, being a mute bystander at a time where desperately needed information was in critically short supply.

“They’ll probably still hate me.” Yeah, no kidding. “I’ll… live with that.”

He didn’t answer the question. If he was doing this out of selfishness, his brothers, you _needed to know._

“Is this out of guilt, Belphegor?”

“That’s none of your business, Simeon.”

“On that, I disagree. No need to be hostile, is there? We’re only having a civil conversation. If you become uncomfortable at any point, you are free to leave.”

“Damn,” the demon snapped. “Is it fun, nosing into my business? You think I don’t know what I caused?”

_Bitter, isn’t it? The taste of your own medicine._

“Still, it would be enlightening to hear straight from the horse’s’ mouth. Or in this case, the bull.” Solomon’s voice never lost its edge of levity, never letting his listeners forget who was in control. You wondered why you didn’t sense it before—or was it because he made an exception for you? But why would he? “Let’s try a different approach. What would you say to them if you could see them again?”

Oh, _this_ should be good. You couldn’t ignore the ironic hilarity of this situation.

“Is this an order by the pact, human?”

“Not at all. You, after all, are the one who came to me.” A brief moment broken by the rustle of fabric. “I am simply asking for answers so I can make an informed decision. Not to mention that everything comes with a price…”

“So that’s how it is. Fine.”

The clatter of movement; you figured he was walking away. Tsk. You were not as cynical as you hoped to be if you were still disappointed that your jaundiced view of the demon was confirmed. 

“I’d tell them I’m sorry. Anything else, it’s not for your ears.”

“Would you hurt them?” Simeon asked.

“What kind of…” he caught himself, swallowed. “I wouldn’t. I’d make a pact with them if they wanted, so it never happens… again.”

That must’ve been the best response they’d get because neither angel nor human pressed the issue.

“I want to know what you have to offer in return.” He was addressing the demon now. “You made no secret of your disdain for me, yet we have already forged a pact. What more can you possibly offer?”

“Knowing you… a proper pact. Which I’ll do.”

He laughed. “I’m afraid that’s not enough. And I do have the means to help them return, but it might not be in the way you expect.”

“Fine. Name your conditions.”

“Pledge fealty to me, Belphegor.”

You had the knowledge of a potato at this rate, but you guessed that was… an upgrade from a regular pact? It had to be a serious commitment. You didn’t believe you had ever heard a hush as intense as the one that followed that pronouncement.

“Solomon, that’s…”

“I know, Simeon. But consider the stakes… and every wish comes with a sacrifice. It is up to him to determine if it’s worth paying.”

“I can’t do that.”

Well, that was rather flat.

“That gives you too much power. I can’t have you making me do something that’ll go against my brothers.” You thought you heard his jaw clench. “I’ve done enough of that.”

You didn’t like it, but you had to admit that his words impressed you. Plus, only an idiot would agree to work under a master like that. Had he grown a backbone after all?

“Ahahaha!”

You grumbled. _Simeon, tell him to get on with it. If the demon won’t swear undying loyalty or whatever might as well get another brother to join the party._

“Solomon, you’re making our guest uncomfortable.”

“Where are my manners?” His last chuckle was poorly concealed. “Then, I propose a bet. If you win, then our current pact will stand as is. If not… Beelzebub has to make a pact with me—a pact of my choosing.”

Huh. He actually took your advice. Or did he already have that in mind? In that case, great minds thought alike… then again, so did fools.

“He has nothing to do with this.”

“That’s my final offer, Belphegor.” His voice was crisp. “I noticed you’ve cast quite the array of enchantments to hide yourself from your twin, but is that truly for his benefit?” His words took on an edge that belied the serenity in his tone. “What would your other brothers sacrifice to see our beloved exchange student alive again?”

Knowing Simeon couldn’t answer without giving you away, you were mostly thinking to yourself. _What_ would _they sacrifice?_

“What’s the bet?”

“The next command I give you will be outside of our pact. If you do it regardless, consider it your victory. And before you ask,” he stalled the barrage of words he no doubt anticipated, “they will return with the fulfillment regardless of what motivates you to undertake this task, if you do at all.”

* * *

As if he didn’t have enough reasons to keep him from sleep. If he wasn’t on edge before (he was), now he was visibly flinching at every off-key noise, wondering if it heralded the dreaded command. He didn’t believe Simeon’s reassurances; why had the angel even been there? His presence had been discomforting, threatening to break his resolve more than once.

“Belphie?”

“Mm.”

“You seem… out of it these days. What happened?”

“Just tired.”

“Beel’s right, Belphie.” Asmo moseyed to his side, giving his brother’s ear a light tug. “You must not be getting enough sleep if it’s at the point where your eyebags have eyebags.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

Asmodeus gave a slight smile at that but didn’t pry. There still lingered between them a slight awkwardness, but the elder brother didn’t believe in carrying a grudge into eternity—the pain was another matter, but hate? Hate that wished ill on another, moreover a brother? He knew too well to be careless of wishes, even in the small moments of desperation. Except in memory, there was no way to go back through a locked door.

“You’ll let us know if you need help, won’t you?” Eyes shaped in miniature sunsets narrowed, searching for an explanation that Belphegor wouldn’t give.

The attic was filled with forgotten junk and he could still see your head smashed against the parapet. It was a customized haven for him to dwell on memories that broke a heart he didn’t deserve to have. Sleep unburied deeper fears and hurts he thought he had healed from.

Since there was no one around to tell him it was okay to be sad about something he thought he had healed from, he could only wallow as he tried to take his brothers’ many pieces of advice. What was a demon to do when his sin and only means of escape was denied?

Knitting, apparently.

What? Satan said it was an activity that helped him reorganize his thoughts with the small repetitive tasks. A passing notion evolved into an activity the youngest came to appreciate. Despite Satan’s impromptu lessons, he never got past the basic patterns but it was something he could concentrate on until exhaustion weighed down his hands. Belphegor didn’t read unless he had to, and chess was something he could never win. But with the hours that hung heavy on his hands, he stitched them into the Stinging Nettle Yarn that he found one morning.

“What are ya, stupid?”

“Hm…?”

“Get your ass up! Lucifer’s been callin’ you down for the second time and if you don’t get movin’ it’s both of us that gets strung up!”

Of course Mammon wouldn’t have forgiven him. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

“And wash your hands! Think yer a Moirai? Gonna be a mess to clean up if you cut off your hand with your strings.” Giving the scattered fabric squares an exasperated sigh, he tossed a roll that bounced off the younger demon’s face.

“I… thanks.” He unwrapped the gauze, sniffing the hydrogel. “Thanks, Mammon… and sorry.”

He didn’t look back; already he was going down the attic stairs.

Putting away the yarn that lived up to its name a little too well, he massaged his blistered hands. They’d heal. To his brothers, this was simply a hobby that produced a bothersome amount of knitted patches ranging from coaster-size to double the span of Lucifer’s overcoat.

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your studies,” was Lucifer’s only response, as if he didn’t place the basket of yarn in the attic.

“You could knit a quilt, you know, if you actually knit a proper square. You added too many stitches on this one,” Satan held up a trapezoid-esque clump.

“I can order you a loom from Akuzon. It’s kind of like knitting,” Leviathan offered.

“The two are different.”

“Both make the same thing, Satan.”

He had no idea if he’d make anything that would hold more meaning than a safe subject of banter with his brothers. Strangely, he thought of you. A knitted blanket draped over a face free of worries, turned towards the stars in a quiet planetarium. And if the blanket was something he made, well…

It was a secret he stowed away from the curious. If Beel somehow knew, he made no comment. He didn’t want his stupid dream to destroy the fragile relations he had left.

Questions bearing Solomon’s face and your scream demanded to be addressed. Who was he doing this for?

_Does it matter? The important thing is I’m here and I’m going to free you from this attic, isn’t it?_

No, that hadn’t been enough for him, either. But if he was risking it all for his family, why did you command his dreams more than them? If it was all out of his selfish desire to earn a pardon you might never give, why did he isolate himself from his brothers lest the wizard’s command come at the most inopportune moment?

 _Would you do it?_ You asked, back leaning against the attic door. _Choose me over your brothers?_

Silence was the loudest answer he wouldn’t give. _They’d want me to._

_Ha! Are you their puppet? Isn’t Lucifer enough already?_

_No. And… and I have so much to say to you._

**I’m afraid that’s no longer possible.**

_Solomon?_

**Close your eyes. As for you, Belphegor. Look at me. This is my command.**

_No. Stop._ Stop! Shut up!

 **Plunge the dagger through their heart.** He pointed a finger. **Finish this.**

 _You were supposed to help them!_ He screamed as he ripped the door off the hinges. Diverging from the usual course, he found with startling ease that he was able to defy the order. Instead, he hurled the panel towards the hateful little sneak.

 **And thus, you have failed.** He cast aside the lumber with a lazy wave and a smirk. **Very well. Beelzebub, please complete what your brother started.**

_Beel…?_

_Belphie, make it stop. I don’t want to hurt them!_

_Beel! No, don’t go… get away from them!_

“Shh, Belphie, it’s just a dream.” Strong, warm arms that smelled of Newt Chips encircled his shoulders, rocking him as they once did in forgotten youthful yesterdays. “It’s not real.”

“I wish I could believe you.” He wiped away wetness, rubbing a moist sleeve onto his pillow. “But thank you for saying that, Beel.”

* * *

“Luke!”

“By the Holy Father!” All of Simeon’s warnings to _keep it down_ were suddenly impossible to recall. “This isn’t one of the demons’ tricks? You… is it really you? You came back with Solomon—back to us?”

“I missed you, too,” you said and smiled at the understatement. How impatiently you had waited while the other two had debriefed the younger angel, trying to ease him into a revelation impossible to behold with anything but awe. “I’d hug you if I could.”

He halted, turning to Simeon. “Are you sure this wouldn’t anger Michael?”

“They were a lost soul. Remember the Scripture, Luke? When a lost lamb is found, it is brought home to rejoice.”

“So it’s okay?”

“Absolutely. Though the transition seems incomplete. Solomon, was this intended?” He gestured to you and your conspicuous lack of physical form.

“It was one of the anticipated outcomes.” He yawned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your body wasn’t with me, so right now is a… transitioning period that is longer than expected.”

“But it’s really them. It’s… it’s their soul.” Luke reached out to touch you. You felt a brief warmth when your hands crossed, but nothing more than that. “I’m so glad…”

“Luke, you’re crying.”

“Am not!” He stomped his feet. “Something just got in my eye.”

“After the demons killed you, I couldn’t—couldn’t stand being here any longer! But Solomon told us to believe because he was going to save you, and… all the offerings we made, and…”

“And… we are blessed.” Simeon finished.

The sorcerer gauged the circle. “Even going back, it’s not that simple.”

Ah, now the hard part. “When is it ever? Why, did they eat my body?”

“Of course demons would,” Luke muttered.

“Hardly. Your body is entombed in the Hall of Lamentation. But it’s not yet suitable for a mortal soul, I believe.”

You forgot Luke was present. “Ah, so they only ate parts of it. Name the fucker who stole my liver. I’ll break his horns.”

“That’s not the issue. You wouldn’t… want to be in a body other than yours, I suspect?”

What in the piss— “Uh… you just keep spare bodies lying around?”

“What a ludicrous idea.”

This _was_ Solomon. “So I can’t even go back to my body?!”

“If you want to reclaim your body, you need to go to where it is.”

“And just how do you expect me to do _that?”_

“I can cast your soul to it, give you temporary control. But you need to infiltrate without giving yourself away.”

“It’s funny that you think that that answers my question.” Your hands itched to grip something solid that could ground you to a steadying anchor. But this was _your_ body. Your pride, or will, refused to let the others fulfill something that was your responsibility without at least protesting. “I’ll go.”

“You must have a plan.” Before you could speak, Solomon added, “A real one.”

“Oh, no. I always come up with fake plans.”

Simeon gave you the look. “Please, be serious.”

You listened to him without second-guessing as you would with your fellow human classmate. Assuming, of course, you were still a student. “I don’t know how I can get into Lamentation by myself.”

“We’ll help you!” Luke raised his hand, fiercely determined. “Won’t we, Solomon? We’re angels!”

“Not to mention it would give others the chance to atone,” Simeon agreed. “What say you, Solomon?”

“Why wouldn’t I help a fellow student in need? Even if it wasn’t part of our agreed-upon accord?”

You grinned. “Great. I was hoping you’d say that.”

Now he tilted his head. “Then, why didn’t you ask for my help earlier?”

You laughed, a refreshingly clean trill. “Because if I did back then, you would’ve asked for something in return, wouldn’t you? Or drag me into some roundabout conversation just for kicks?”

He stilled, making you wonder if you had crossed a line. When he lifted his head, however, it was only a smile of intuition.

“I see. I should be more mindful of my conduct from now on.”

“Uh, did I make you mad?”

“Not at all. Actually, it’s impressive.”

You trolled him; why was he looking at you like you reinvented the wheel? “If you guys can help me, then I actually sorta have kind of a plan.” To your relief, Solomon made no comment on the flimsiness of your words, patiently waited for you to speak.

It was a long night. An easel was lugged out. Ideas were shot down. Structural flaws were exposed. Batter was poured into molds. Melancholic coffee was brewed. Alchemy textbooks were opened. You pretended to drink coffee, listing it as another source of motivation to ensure this plan succeeded.

“It’s not an airtight plan,” Solomon finally conceded as Luke stifled a yawn, “but I think this’ll do.”

“When do we start?” you asked.

“Tomorrow.”

It excited you. “So soon?”

“Yes. Because the day after, they plan to send your body back to your family in the human world.”


	15. Reckless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is when plans go ‘wrong’ that unforeseen things are allowed to happen.  
> This was when you asked, “Then why bother coming up with a plan?”
> 
> Eh, people gave you all sorts of answers. Your mom was too sensible, saying that they were integral to many systems and luxuries you took for granted. Your university friend fussed over plan after plan, telling you that nothing was better than seeing a plan come to fruition, though you were sure he meant maxing out his _meal_ plan. And it was true: pooling knowledge and resources into solving a problem and watching it all come together felt like arousal without the genital action ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Or maybe people planned to try to feel some semblance of control over their own lives because they refused to face the truth that the chaos they survived through transcended every label and box they tried to put on their meager existences. Death, unfortunately, served no concrete answers. You'd know; you tried it twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how long this will go but uhhh I promise to make it interesting at the very least.  
> Thanks as always for ForeverAlone5 for the beta!

A roll of frosty mist that had combed against the windows of Purgatory Hall drifted over a polluted stream that flowed with the consistency of tar. The creek slithered between overgrown banks and charred trees, all of which were overlooked by a Tenebræn Dove. Its blackened feathers blended well into the clouded night as it flew from its perch, headed towards a lamenting mansion that promised to be an eventful backdrop.

It was impossible to keep still. How could you, after taking in the news that your body was to be moved? To your family, who would have to bury you. You’d never be able to forgive yourself, or the demons, if that catastrophe was ever inflicted.

Admittedly, you still weren’t sure about returning. However, permanent death was no longer an option for you, not when you were acutely aware of the consequences that would happen if the demons were allowed to proceed with their plans unhindered.

Wandering uncertainly in and out of the hallway, he caught your gaze and tried for a smile. With the others finishing their meal, it was just the two of you in the common lounge, where Solomon had _graciously_ moved your circle to.

For Luke, it had been far less awkward than he had feared, being alone with you. You were genuinely pleased to share the waiting with him, while you told yourself repeatedly that you wouldn’t forget.

_The body sustains more than muscle memory. It is capable of preserving the more intangible vestiges of its host’s quintessence, a phenomenon known as the—yes, I suppose it’s like a digital memory backup of a computer if that makes more sense to you. When you reinstate yourself, be very careful to not let the impact overwhelm you. Sorry? Well, of course, there were cases where the adverse effects—adverse effects range from memory loss to spontaneous combustion—I’m aware, but if we want to keep this under wraps, this much is to be expected. You mustn’t place blind faith in my powers. Have more faith in yourself._

Solomon should never be allowed to give pep talks for the rest of ever.

He spoke to you first. “Do you pray?”

“Huh?” You paused. “I—not really.” Your laugh was off-key. “But you know, when I feel alone, I think of those who are counting on me to pull through. I’d do anything for them.” And you’d do near anything to keep their memories close to you.

Luke softened at this. “I think I know what you mean.” He cleared his throat, looked around. “Are you ready?”

“Not at all. But,” Seeing his protest taking shape, you forestalled it by saying, “I’ll bear it. And you did your part bee-yoo-tiful-y this morning, I heard from Solomon. That means I have to do my part, too.”

“I-It was nothing,” he looked down. “I would’ve baked them regardless and, ah, Simeon did the talking with the… demons.”

“But you went with him,” you countered.

“Only to make sure they were safely delivered!” He flapped his hands. “I didn’t want Beelzebub to eat them!”

You smiled, let it pass. You imagined Luke, absurdly small beside the hulking Beelzebub. “So, how were they? Him and his brothers—”

Sobered by the mention of them, he no longer laughed. “I don’t understand.”

“What, Luke?”

A sullen expression met, perhaps mirrored, yours. “What they did was unforgivable. I was so stupid to think they could—what they did—everyone, even Simeon told me that no one meant this to happen but it still did!”

“I know.” Quietly. “I heard you saw what happened. You shouldn’t have… I’m sorry you had to see that—see _me.”_

He shook his head vehemently. “If I didn’t see, I wouldn’t have known.” Suddenly eager to engage in physical activity, the angel walked over to the candle rack, began extinguishing them one flame at a time. “I was so angry. I thought—” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Us angels are supposed to forgive. But it’s so unfair!”

You wanted to hold his hand. He was already upset that you couldn’t eat anything that he had made. All right, you supposed that was one more reason to return to your original state, one that didn’t make you want to melt in panic and rage.

“Your indignation is understandable,” Solomon emerged with a book in his hands. “The demons have indeed failed. But if every sin was to be held over, this exchange program never would’ve happened either.”

“And it shouldn’t have! This stinking pit of demons, filled with nothing but backstabbing, treacherous filth—”

“Ah, but you would’ve never met us, either.” Solomon gestured for the child to continue quenching the candle flames except one.

“! That’s… well, that’s…” Luke spluttered. “That’s true…”

“So the exchange program wasn’t a complete mistake,” Simeon joined.

You didn’t want Luke to carry that sullen expression and anger; even if it was on your behalf. You were enough—and he wasn’t the one you meant to burn. Unwilling to let them see your fear, so you ended the conversation: “Everything else can come after. It’s all moot if the plan fails.”

One by one the candles were quenched until at last a single solitary flame lit the room like a chapel. A foreboding that implied more superstition than common sense crept up like a chill. Paranoid dumbass, you told yourself, but you glanced at Luke and Simeon, seeing that they, too, were absorbed in thoughts no less troubling than yours. The operation was on their minds and there was comfort in knowing that. Anxiety shared was anxiety easier to bear as time ebbed.

“Here.” His voice was jarring, and not at all because he alone appeared serene. “This is what you must recite.”

You squinted, committing each word to a memory you weren’t sure would withstand after everything that would occur tonight. “Before going in?”

“Precisely.” After making sure you remembered, Solomon gave a satisfied nod before turning to Luke.

You already knew what you had to do; waiting only made you think how many possibilities could lead this to failure. Perhaps you would wake up in a box unable to breathe as fingernails splintered against wood, or in pitch-black without the faintest scrap of memory to guide you. Or you might not wake up at all. What if the affections that kept you safe among demons had deteriorated into hatred for whatever reason, condemning you to something worse than death?

“You’re very brave, you know.”

“I wish that was enough.”

“If it isn’t, you have us. Though I doubt it will be lacking when you have shown both sides of the coin called courage.”

“And what’s that?” If only you were hot enough to pull off abstract words and come off as mysterious instead of annoying.

“Bravery… many above think bravery is Michael casting Lucifer from the skies, the soldiers who laid down their lives for their realm. Having spoken to some of my demon peers, their image of bravery is Lucifer giving up everything he had ever known for the sake of the Devildom, spurning Heaven for his duty to Diavolo.”

Well, that made all of your actions so silly in comparison. Your repertoire had nothing that could match up to those otherworldly standards. “Your point, Simeon?”

“Laying down your life and all you hold dear is what the lambs aspire to, not realizing that each of them carries a piece of courage on their own. There are so many ways to be brave, you see. Enduring the pain of the dark moments where one’s timespan is a constant bridge from one grief after another, but still walking towards the hope of a better life.”

You felt a sudden, intense desire to fling yourself out the window. The words, and the face that looked upon you with an angel’s recognition, desperately embarrassed you—and made you forget about the precarious state your body was in, if only momentarily.

“It’s an awfully dull kind of bravery in comparison,” you muttered.

“But bravery, nonetheless.” He smiled. “And here you are, ready to do it again.”

“With your help,” you corrected.

“With _our_ help,” he repeated before he leaned closer, dropping his voice to a warm whisper. “Do you know why you saw us in our true forms?” He waited for an answer that you didn’t(couldn’t) give. “Historically, we were instructed to only show our true form to the prophets so they knew we came not as guests, but as servants of our Father bearing crucial messages.”

“I’m no prophet.” Minus that time you got into palm reading and made voodoo dolls during a particularly angsty sophomore year.

“You’re not,” Simeon agreed. “But you bore the responsibility of a dozen prophets all the same. Clairvoyance doesn’t decide the fortitude of character.”

“So you came like that because…” It hurt to think of the overpowering disarray that was the uncovered face of an angel. “…why?”

“We were combing a pathless region for a single soul. With Solomon’s cloaking, we could use our abilities that we would otherwise… keep discreet.” He shrugged. “Having more eyes open is always helpful for a search.”

You had to chuckle at that. “I prefer your human form, still.”

“And I yours.” Simeon brushed his fingers against your shoulder. “I hope to see it again very soon.”

* * *

_“Hurry and pack up. We’ve less than an hour.”_

If he could be Barbatos for one day, he would freeze time. Then he would never face the moment where he would have to say goodbye to you forever.

True, he didn’t know if the butler could truly do that… but Mammon wasn’t one to fuss over technicalities. He was too full of greed to speculate on much else. Greed to possess keepsakes of a lost treasure—the witchpot-shaped coin purse that you had held like his hand. It was grubby from use, smelled of metal and rusted fingers. Other everyday reminders that probed a hurt almost beyond endurance; he took them all.

Why were his brothers furious that he claimed your once-possessions in the name of the first? Had they forgotten what he was? Greed didn’t pick and choose, at least until Pride ‘convinced’ him that his best interests didn’t lie in hoarding. Made sense; why should your belongings be with the demon that pried the life from you, even if it was at your behest?

“Someone’s at the door!” He yelled.

“Then go answer it.” Satan passed by his room. “Stop yelling.”

“I’m still packin’,” he groaned as he started to close his door. “What’re all those books for? Planning a bonfire?”

“Of course you would suggest something like that.” He gave a disgusted sigh. “If you had any sense, you would bring something to amuse yourself while this trip devolves into a meltdown where _someone_ will inevitably create messes I have no intentions of participating in… or cleaning up afterwards.”

“Shit, that’s a good idea. I’ll bring my poker set, then.”

“As if anyone would be dumb enough to play with you. Besides,” he snorted, “you’d be the one who starts anything, or at the least, blow everything out of proportion.”

“You’re tellin’ me. I don’t even wanna go.” He shifted his gaze past Satan, towards the right corridor. “This sucks.”

Catching the expression in his eyes, an understanding passed. “They’ll be safe here.”

“But they’ll be alone,” Mammon protested.

“Cerberus will ensure no one harms them.” Satan thumbed through a favourite book. “You can’t get better protection than that.” He didn’t want to talk or think about the hands that had held the spine with a firm grip, careful not to crease the spine. _Because it’s precious to you._ Ah, don’t… not here where the deliverer of your death—or release—stood before him, not now when there would be nothing more than memories to prove you ever lived or loved the Devildom.

He spasmed, his eyes jolting wide and searching for the back of your head as you walked the halls, your back always turned to him.

“I should get going.” Gesturing to his books. “You’d better hurry up before Lucifer comes by.”

Yet the knocking persisted in a consistent tempo against the main doors. Someone had to come eventually.

“Solomon?” Disbelieving, and then tartly, “This is a most unexpected visit.”

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Lucifer.” His appearance was crisp as always, seemingly immune to the surrounding humidity that pervaded the Devildom as of late. With silver hair so silky it reflected rainbow colours from the damp, he smiled. “Pardon me if this is an inopportune time.”

“As it so happens, it is. All of us are engaged at present but we shall be more than pleased to receive you as a proper guest at another time.”

“That’s a shame.” He realigned his cloak with a slowed hand. “For I came here at Asmodeus’ urgent request.”

“Is that so?”

Casting a surreptitious glance at his D.D.D., he smiled as he beheld the demon and his impeccable sense of timing. “There he is.”

“Took your time, Solomon! What are you doing standing outside? Come in!” Pushing past Lucifer, he gave his visitor a beatific smile. “I love that new cape you’re wearing! Is that from Majolish or—” A frown. “You look dreadfully pale! Not enough sleep?”

“Asmo,” His ire directed to his sibling, Lucifer glowered. “What could be so urgent to have a guest over tonight… of all nights?”

“Oh, I don’t intend to stay the night. I had procured some perfumes that Asmodeus wanted to sample.” He held out a box, inviting Asmo to lift the lid. A squeal of delight grated against Lucifer’s ears at roughly the same time a concoction of scents assaulted his nose. This was Devil’s Rosewater, flowery scents reminiscent of the Celestial Realm, and a bitter aroma he couldn’t immediately name… his focus sharpened into a piercing look towards the human, who began to banter with his brother.

“Have you tried these as well?” Asmo was asking as he picked up a phial. To Lucifer, “It won’t take long, I promise!”

“I’m wearing something else, but it’s similar, no?” Solomon smiled, allowing the demon to lead him by the arm towards his room.

“Is that why your smell is more enrapturing than usual?” Asmo licked his lips. “I love it. Come closer to me.”

Lucifer evidently realized this was a lost cause. “Watch the time.” Towards Solomon, he kept his expression smooth. “You must excuse me.”

Making the appropriate responses to Asmodeus as he gushed over the array of fragrances, the wizard found himself in the walls of a decorated bedroom, roses and satin hanging on the bedposts as the demon hummed, digging through his own cache of perfumes for comparison.

“So the perfume you’re wearing isn’t in any of these bottles?” he pouted.

“Unfortunately, no. It’s a rare kind.” Solomon picked off a stray hair from his clothes. “Some of the components have Celestial-exclusive properties, I suspect. I’d ask Simeon for you, but…”

“Ah. I suppose it’s for the best, then.” He drew back. “Would you mind thanking him and Luke for me? They sent some—stuff this morning. Beel almost ate one before Lucifer stopped him.” He held out an uncorked phial for the human to smell. “I’d thank them myself if… they seem to be awfully busy these days.” His eyes glowed as he fixed his gaze on Solomon. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” he echoed. “You know it’s in my best interests to look after those I’ve forged pacts with. And these fragrances,” he motioned to his offerings, “were distilled from various places across all three realms.”

“This one _smells_ like cinnamon… with Stygian Rose?”

“Lethe Vera,” Solomon corrected. “I’ve added to each of them a personal touch, something to enhance the properties.”

“Ooh~? Now I’m curious. Nothing dangerous, I hope.”

“By themselves, nothing.” He grinned. “I swear it on my honour as a sorcerer.”

Asmodeus begged and wheedled, even resorting to his powers to charm the answers out of him, but it was a no-go. Only the promise that none of the perfumes would cause any harm when applied, but where was the fun in that?

“One hint! Just one!”

“Since it’s you…” Solomon leaned in with the air of a conspirator. “When mixed _just_ right, the perfumes will create a truly unforgettable sight.”

He sniffed. “What kind of ‘unforgettable’ are we talking about? I’ve seen Beel eat something that was unforgettable, but I’d have lived the rest of my life quite happily not knowing about it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Solomon paused, thoughtful. “But keep in mind, Asmodeus, these were difficult to acquire. Whatever you do with them is your liberty, but…” he hesitated with just the right amount of circumspection before continuing, “Probably best not to let them fall into the hands of someone who wouldn’t appreciate this as much as you. Scent cannot be heard or even seen, yet it is that unattended invisibility that draws out its potential… don’t you think?”

Asmodeus clicked his tongue. “Trying to lure me? You’re losing your edge, my dear Solomon. If you were a fellow demon this would be so much easier.”

He laughed at the sacrilege. “I do agree that things would be so much easier if some circumstances were altered. I wouldn’t dream of charming the embodiment of charm himself. That would be presumptuous of me.”

“I hate that it’s working,” the demon sighed. “Can’t be helped, can it? I’m only a helpless demon that dances to the will of wisdom.” He wagged his finger. “And now you have two of us in your palm. Who will you go for next?”

The corner of his jaw stiffened before relaxing in the next heartbeat. “Who knows? But you’ve reminded me, I should see to the other brother. Do you mind escorting me to his room?”

Asmodeus sighed. He would’ve liked to extend this lovely diversion where he could put aside his griefs via inconsequential social conversation. “Only for you,” he acquiesced with a wink.

Beelzebub was nonplussed at Solomon’s presence, and more so that he was asking for his brother. Lucifer had warned him to be careful of this person. _Don’t let him know more than he has any right to, Beel._

“Is Belphegor here?”

“He’s…” Probably in the attic, but Solomon didn’t need to know that. “I’ll go get him.” Wait, then who’d keep watch?

“I’ll stay with you in the meantime.” Asmodeus offered.

“Of course. It would be lonely otherwise,” Solomon let his eyes wander, taking in the furnishings of the twins’ bedroom. Two beds, two lamps, the schemas of the sun and moon for each. “It’s quite a room.”

Asmodeus watched his master survey the surroundings, drawing on their pact to glean answers beyond the reach of lust. “They could use more taste in their choice of décor. But it’s adequate.”

“What of their clothes?” 

“Oh! You should _see_ their wardrobes!” He bounded over to the closet on the right, began rifling through rows of hoodies and tracksuits without a second look. “Tut, tut… Belphie still has these? Did you know there was a time when he used to wear suspenders with dress shoes? Can you imagine?”

“I cannot,” Solomon replied with raised eyebrows. “By the way, Asmodeus, I noticed this scarf over there…” Fishing the fabric from a nook between the adjacent drawers. “Strange. I think you would enjoy wearing this more than Beelzebub.”

“That’s because it’s mine!” He snatched it, examining it for loose threads. “How did this end up here? I spent days looking for this… what else have they stolen from me?!”

“Now, now, I’m sure they intended to give them to you.” Adding underneath his breath, “Eventually.”

He quivered in disappointment. “I’d have expected this from Mammon. None of my clothes fit Beel anyhow, and Belphie…” He clapped his hands. “I’m going to search through their closets to see if they have more of my outfits! Trying to copy my beauty is admirable, however impossible it is, but I can’t condone theft like this!”

Solomon raised his hands in surrender before opening doors and peering into their contents alongside his demon.

“Did you say something, Solomon?”

“Not at all.” He ducked as a sweater flew over his head. “You seem preoccupied, would you like me to help?”

His cloak swept behind him as he lifted latches, calling Asmodeus over for items suspected to be his, going through cabinets and dressers with measured concentration. Shaking out the folds of an oversized sweatshirt, its sleeves smacking against the cabinet hood _—thwack—thwack—_ he collected himself into the respectful posture of a humble guest, retreated towards the doorway with an audible breath, feeling a great deal lighter.

“Asmo, what in the deepest, darkest hell are you doing to our room?” Belphegor glowered.

“You’re one to talk, stealing my clothes and never giving them back!”

“Gentlemen, please.” He raised his hands. “I still have my business to finish, and I doubt Lucifer would give me much time.”

He shot his brother a glare as Asmodeus resumed ransacking his closet before facing Solomon and asking gruffly, “What do you want?”

“No need to be on edge, Belphegor,” Solomon smiled, eyes inscrutable as a cat’s. “I have only come to remind you.”

“Remind me what?”

Three demons waited for the answer to fall on his lips. Solomon smothered a grimace. Asmodeus would’ve understood the layering of his words with the flickering gold-flecks of his eyes, or at least make a meaning out of it for himself if he didn’t. “Only that my word to you still stands. The question is if your answer remains unchanged?”

“Belphie, what is he talking about?” Beelzebub stepped protectively in front of his brother.

Belphegor glanced sideways, pulling at the lock of hair that covered one eye. The question wasn’t _what_ this human knew, but _how much_ he didn’t know. At least with—with Lucifer, he could be reasonably counted upon to act on their side, however he plotted. Solomon, though, was dangerous. Was he planning a reincarnation like Lilith? What would Solomon demand from him?

“Nothing’s changed.” It was both answer and accusation. Almost a week since his visit to Purgatory Hall and a valley of silence in between.

“On that, I must object,” Solomon scratched a spot behind his ear. “I’d say you changed a great deal.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Belphegor snorted. “If you’re done here, might as well leave.”

“You smell like cake.”

Solomon chuckled, turning to Beel with a lighter expression. “Yes. Luke always chases me out of the kitchen when he’s baking ‘something special’, so I thought to come by.”

“I really want to try one of Luke's cakes again sometime.” A wistful look tainted his features. “Though, I guess that won’t happen again anytime soon.”

Solomon studied him, thoughtful. “I’ll pass the message along. It can’t hurt.”

“I don’t think that’ll help much,” he mumbled, “but thanks. I can’t say I blame him…”

“Well, it looks like my business is done here. Asmodeus, should I see myself out?”

“Oh, no, no! I’ll see you to the door.”

* * *

Against his will, Lucifer reached out, let his fingers brush against the magic that protected your body from his touch. Who knew that the death of a human would affect him so? His fingers constricted with his heart, as if the loss were being felt for the first time, the stunned realization that you were gone, your voice forever silent, your presence no more than memory. Memories… he couldn’t trust them: distorted with colours of love, guilt, sorrow, projecting the past through the stained glass that darkened… or brightened, too bright to last.

_Just wait a little longer and you’ll be home._

If only he could follow you. You left no footprints for him to chase, perhaps deliberately to make him and everyone else wonder if you had ever existed as more than a fantasy.

Demons propagated superstition; they forged beliefs and laws of mysticism that their subjects should abide to, not themselves. But as much as the princes of Hell made their own laws, he saw in your inert face a scrap of dream where you lay enclosed in a flower he couldn’t name. It was hardly the worst dream he had had of you, but it struck a vein of superstitious unease.

It was silly to feel this way. But standing in the darkened chamber, he remembered whispering to you through the petals, “I never want this to end.” and had woken up right after he said that.

This wouldn’t do. They had to go. At least he would be with those who shared his grief; brothers who only had each other to endure, to overcome. He had to take heart in that, to convince himself that aside from the meeting with Lord Diavolo and what would have to follow, it would be… a vacation, of sorts. The Lord’s castle suffered no lack of luxury, and he now remembered the last trip that had made it entertaining… until he remembered, too, that you had told him how lovely it would be to go to a retreat again.

If you were watching him from somewhere, he thought, he hoped that you could forgive him, or at least not be so desperately unhappy. You, who still visited each of their dreams, never more than several breaths below the consciousness. None of them were innocent, after all… and no one could deny it anymore.

* * *

_Remember, you cannot fall. You are bodiless, you don’t have flesh to collide against anything solid. When in doubt, think ‘up’._

You would’ve liked to think that was supposed to be his attempt to be motivational. Or it was a jest to get back at you for messing with him as you hurtled down. Past his grip, through the crinkling of clothes and swinging doors, you wondered, how long did it take for one to fall into a cemetery when you were already in Hell?

Back when Luke stumbled into this place, he recalled the first thing he had seen was a grand opening, numerous candles and flames that lit the way to something like an altar that had held the fatal grimoire. Though he recounted Lucifer’s rage and your suicidal rescue most vividly, he recalled other chambers far across the hall, but most of them had held nothing more than a few bits and pieces, likely storage. The place, though expansive was meant to be a place of contemplation for the living and rest for the dead, not a labyrinth.

_You must be in one of those._

Up, he had said. You concentrated on the letters that formed the word, which did nothing. You could see the flickering pinpoints of glowing candle flame and envisioned yourself floating above them. You felt your descent slow to an even stop. Bodiless or no, you weren’t going to take your chances with the fire just yet.

You willed yourself a safe distance above the burning flames, the configuration of the pillars and trios of skulls that dangled beyond the tip of each torch that adorned the walls. Guess demons didn’t believe in fire hazards. You drifted, nice and slow, towards the centre as if a force was compelling you to the heart of the mausoleum.

Then you looked down. Staring up at you an immeasurable length below that would surely be a lethal fall lay the stone-carved features of an ingénue, a book arranged into her rigid hands. A replica of a body that wasn’t even yours.

You didn’t know you were _this_ high up. You didn’t have a stomach that leapt at this height, nor could you sweat in anticipation. Still, you had to fight back the urge to cower, or worse, to fall.

_Given Luke’s information, your body has to be located away from the main inhabitant of the mausoleum. They wouldn’t want to slight the one they originally dedicated the tomb to, even for a mortal. My spell will keep ghosts and other immaterial creatures from absorbing you but do not rely on that alone. Start with the furthest antechambers and work your way from there. How do I know, you ask? Hm… call it intuition, perhaps?_

_Ha ha… you said that many times, but humans have always fascinated me. It only takes a touch to bring out their desperation, to make them strive for the apex of sin and, rarely, a virtue. Lust is a driving factor for many, so is Pride… ah, so you think you’re Wrath? Satan would be elated to hear that… but you don’t believe that’s the_ only _obsession that drove you to this, do you?_

You were no philosopher. Blah, blah, something about humans always striving for something that consumed them in the end and how disgusting it was. You dealt with it as you dealt with your other problems: ignoring them until they stared you in the face, threatening your peace, to which then you swung with all-consuming passion.

_But even that isn’t always true._

He had to work bloody hard to piss you off so much that you heard these thoughts in his insufferable voice. Didn’t he say he couldn’t resume direct contact until you inhabited your body? Your body… that you had to find before your parents could see them. That was one outcome you couldn’t bear, would never let happen.

Staring at the statue that honoured Lilith, you were tempted to reach down. A moment later, you thanked your lucky stars for your self-restraint.

* * *

『All seven brothers are ensconced in Lord Diavolo’s castle.』

“‘Ensconced’? What the heck? How many books did you go through for that word?”

『Perhaps, if you spent less time watching Bon AppéDevil on your D.D.D. and more time on your studies… very well, what I meant to say was—』

“I know what you said, Solomon! But if you said this mission was time-sensitive, use easier words!”

『I will try, only because you asked me so. Tell Simeon it’s time.』

“He’s already on his way.”

『Good. And you did good work too, Luke.』

“Will it be enough?” His fingers rubbed over his cuff almost compulsively. “No, no, it has to be. If it doesn’t, then…”

『Luke.』

“I know, I know! But I can’t help but think… what if the demons find out? What if they don’t wake up?”

『Luke. You did your part with great care. Simeon is gone and I can feel eyes tracking my every move. And they’re counting on us, counting on you to succeed. You can wait a little longer by yourself, can’t you?』

『Luke?』

“Okay, yeah. Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. I—we can do this. We’ll show those demons! And… how are they doing?”

『That’s better. And they’re in the tomb. No issues so far with the security measures.』

“Good. Hmph. Wait, you don’t think… I know they’re demons, but shouldn’t they have… some kind of protection?”

『Against demons? Every kind of protection available, yes. Against humans? Not so much.』

“You’re kidding!”

『Usually, yes. But did you know? It’s easier to deceive than bewitch a human. Why bother with complex spellcasting upon humans who only believe what they want to believe anyway?』

Hope briefly dawned. “So they’ll be okay?”

『…』

“Solomon…?”

『No. You’re right. They’d be bigger fools to have no defence for other threats, but it wouldn’t be as complex (likely since the only non-demons are just us.) But what would they have…』

* * *

_Cerberus!_

All three heads rumbled, sensing a foreign presence but unable to determine the exact source. You held your breath (as much as you could, at any rate), thinking up, _up!_ You plastered yourself to the ceiling, refusing to budge as the monster paced, confused before resuming its patrol. The middle head hated displeasing his master the most, and he had entrusted to them the duty of guarding this place.

Good thing the brute didn’t have wings. Before you could dwell on the reality long enough to let the fear devour you, you forced yourself to move away from Lilith’s coffin. To your horror, the ceilings grew low as you groped your way through the smog of fires and shadows.

Fuck it. This ceiling was too low for you to ghost-ninja your way through. If you thought ‘down’, would you—yep, now you were on the ground. You had no time to marvel on your genius as you hit the floor, moved as fast as you could away from the panting and slobbering of Cerberus. Lucifer had said that the creature was a picky eater but some theories were better left untested.

Magic pricked; Solomon’s magic circle was meant to be positioned upon ground or within his domain, and the circle being around your ghostly torso fit neither condition. Overleveled—er, overpowered as he was, his mana pool wasn’t infinite.

Shit! One of the heads must have scented you because now you heard growling, the thudding of paws against stone. You couldn’t even scream as you forced yourself to hurry the fuck up. A constant stream of profanity raced through your mind, blurring into incomprehensible panic as you blindly swerved yourself into the nearest chamber.

Cerberus stopped; all of the three heads knew better than to storm into the smaller chambers. Not only would their master be furious, but the doorway was also too small for them to go through. But it must be an intruder, and the chambers had no other exit. Very well. The beast could wait.

It took several moments to regain composure, understanding that the brute wouldn’t come after you into this small chamber. You turned slowly, sagging and weary. If there were any more threats in this room, you were thoroughly unprepared to defend yourself against it.

And lo, now you could laugh at God in the face for His folly in seeing you fit to exist. Who could boast that they saw the face of their deaths once, let alone twice? This must be proof that you were never destined for the likes of Heaven.

You approached the body with the forlorn shock of one beholding a house that had been background for fulfilling and youthful memories, now a deserted relic, alien now that childhood was over.

Was this a better portrayal of death? Closed eyes hollowed on the papery surface that was the face. The white cushioning made it impossible to see the back of the head, but it must be unbroken if there were no bloodstains, right? And the throat… was covered by dried flowers. You were relieved, for now.

It was a better sight than some, you thought. You looked at the flowers, the strange bits and pieces of containers and toys on the table, but the only things you stared at with any emotion other than confusion were the carefully arranged bottles to the left, and beside it, a silver platter.

* * *

“Simeon? Do you have an appointment scheduled with Lord Diavolo at this hour?”

“Alas, no,” he smiled. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“I’m afraid so, yes. Is it urgent?”

“My apologies. Here,” he waved towards the bundle of scrolls at his side, “are some documents from the Celestial Realm that require review. And,” Simeon dipped his voice into one of gravity, “there are other topics I would like to discuss with you, that you may pass onto Lord Diavolo.”

Barbatos narrowed his eyes. Things hadn’t been easy on the demon, running from one place to the next now that his lord was bogged down in stacks after stacks of paperwork to fill, legislation to pass, and this had worn down on him considerably.

“Will it be quick?”

“I’m afraid not,” Simeon replied. “But the Celestial Realm is restless and there is turmoil among those who opposed the exchange program. Even Michael is growing curious. I have both my duty as angel and my word to Lord Diavolo that some secrets remain hidden… surely this is as important?”

“Yes. Of course, forgive me.” Barbatos smoothed his sleeves. “My Lord is currently busy, but I am more than happy to address your concerns, especially when they involve relations between our respective realms.”

“Thank you, Barbatos. You’re most gracious.”

* * *

Didn’t someone say you wouldn’t recognize yourself in a crowd because you only ever saw your reflection? You never understood that. Weren’t they supposed to be the same thing?

You didn’t have enough time to even begin psychoanalyzing this mess. You approached the soulless husk; just like the attic door, if there was any magic that was supposed to prohibit you from coming too close, it was doing a terrible job at it. You hoped this was your actual vessel because the hellish growling outside prevented you from exploring further. You _supposed_ it was your face, but realistically, what were the odds that you got the right body in the first room?

Well, this was the Devildom… and considering your past record? Pretty high.

You wished there was at least a name tag so you could be sure. Unfortunately, since there persisted this silly idea that the dead weren’t supposed to move about, corpses and coffins didn’t have much in terms of traceable information.

 _The memories stored in a body will conflict with your own. The transition_ will _be painful._

Was it greedy to not want to sacrifice any of your memories? Pain you would gladly give away, but would it make you better to forget that you died and the mess you waded through, denied absolution at every turn? It was tempting, very tempting to forget. Almost as tempting as the motivation to survive, in whatever form—you had managed to make it this far. What of the angels that prayed for your restoration?

What of the demons? Did they still remember you, or were you now nothing more than a discarded weed from the garden of memory? You struggled against the desire to analyze and overanalyze, a trait you never wanted, a habit gained to stave off the ugly reality that birthed a strangled ordeal, one that demanded attention and devoured hope.

But you had to keep moving, even if Solomon’s circle lasted for an eternity of contemplation. You weren't falling behind this time. You gave your face a hard stare, prayed that someone could hear your solidified desire to pull through, for real this time. And no one was going to stop you. Damn them if they tried!

Wrapping your consciousness around the body with all the violence you could muster, you enclosed yourself, plunging forward with the spell and without a second look. Arrays of colours splashed wildly in your perception, then concentrated into a yawning void that grew bigger with each second, swallowing you in. Your world became black oblivion, devoid of sight and sound.

With the last of your strength, you drew on your thoughts, the concept of resurrection. Anger, defensive and driven, infused the strength to thrash as the force of an eighteen-wheeler erupted, the byproduct of the spark of life and its intended body for its cycle to rekindle the spirit—the fortitude, if you will, of someone that wasn’t as callous as they hoped to be as they fought to keep everything in their grasp. The coffin, chaos roaring through the openings, wobbled.

Then every sensation disappeared.

* * *

“Belphegor!”

Crap. Lucifer didn’t need to call him by his full name when his tone already conveyed enough impatience for all of the brothers. “I heard you the first time.”

“Then I’d think you’d pick up the pace. You’re lagging behind, more so than usual.”

“Am I?” He hugged his pillow close to his chest. “I’ll keep up. You just worry about agreeing with everything Lord Diavolo says.”

Lucifer frowned, turned away to rebuke Levi for overpacking. He had brought so many games that it ripped a hole in his second-favourite duffel bag, which had brought the demon to near tears. With each brother worse for wear after the journey to Diavolo’s castle, each with their own pockets of feelings they kept hidden from the others, the handful of hours his other brother used to relax in their assigned rooms was, for Lucifer, given to slightly whittling down the stack of bureaucratic drivel he and Diavolo had to go through.

Rubbing dark specks from his eyes, he ushered the rest of his brothers into the meeting room, noting with some concern at how exhausted they looked. Leviathan and Satan, both used to burning the midnight oil pursuing their trademark hobbies, had fatigue etched onto their pale faces.

“Can’t we discuss it tomorrow? I’m getting tired!” Mammon complained.

“No.”

“Man…”

Belphegor made no comment as he stared into nothing, eyes remaining vacant as Beelzebub kept a guiding hand on his shoulder. Taking the seat closest to the exit, he clutched his pillow tighter to his chest as he slouched on his chair. When Beel tried to talk to him, he lay still as if dozing.

The gathering was far from harmonious and was charged with lingering undercurrents of strain. The seven milled about the hall in varying degrees of desolation, but at least they could chalk up this slump to the topic that would be discussed, confirmed, and put away without further comment until the wound was no longer raw and gaping. Watching the others make desultory conversation through the veil of his hair, Belphegor stifled his breaths.

“I’m sleepy, too,” Beel yawned. “I should eat something.”

“Beel, you just had three bags of chips,” Asmo jibed. “Mammon, stop yawning! Looking at you makes me ahhh-haaaah… yawn, too…”

Giving the six a warning glance to keep the volume at a minimum, Lucifer leafed through the papers that detailed the content they would have to go through. Your name popped up from the text, circling his mind with the iron tang of your blood. His eyes flicked critically over what he had written. He raised a gloved hand to his face, fingertips pressed against aching eyes. Sweet Hell, how tired he was. What he wouldn’t give to go back to the days where you caused him grief with your actions than the cascading aftermath of your death.

These chairs were too soft. Silken plush armchairs were easy to sink into.

You cropped up a lot, in both text and in mind. To be fair, tonight’s discussion was to be about your body and how it would be moved to the family you placed great care and protection over, and leave it to them to inter your remains, however little they liked it. They couldn’t keep you close forever; time had to have its way eventually, to snatch you away from their keeping.

“Mmph…”

Heavy thoughts weighed down even the minds of demons and stirred fatigue with an inviting hand. The papers were too heavy to hold up. He set them down, craning his head over them as he fought to absorb the words. Had he overworked himself into this deplorable state? He’d never hear the end of it from Diavolo. Wouldn't he have let him know if he was going to be this late?

“Beel, could you go summon… Lord…”

By the time he realized that something was dreadfully wrong, that the listless cloud settling over his head was more than a creation of his own exhaustion, the fragrance unmasked itself.

“Belphie,” his voice was sinister. “What—this is your doing?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Lucifer,” his face betrayed the peaks of desperation. Lucifer cursed his inattention; why was it now that he saw the bruised puffiness in Belphegor’s face, the unkempt look of a twice-made traitor? “I promise… no, I swear that you can kill me for it later.” He’d have to line up, though; there was already a queue for those who’d gladly see him done in.

Lucifer glanced around wildly. Horror dawned as he beheld the limp forms of his brothers who were already overcome by the effects of whatever spell Belphegor had cast upon this room. A curse? No, that was Lucifer’s specialty; any curse would’ve been detected and nullified in moments. A delayed charm or illusion? “Why…?”

But Belphegor, prince as he was, couldn’t have pulled off the power to send five of his brothers keeling over without a grain of resistance. Who else—oh, hell—the somnolence made him feel drunk, almost.

His knees buckled as Lucifer struggled to his feet, wings unfurling behind him. Summoning what courage (or stupidity) he had left, Belphegor propelled himself to face his livid brother, shoving the pillow that encapsulated the censer into the firstborn’s face.

The transformation was his undoing; already sluggish, the four wings became millstones that dragged him down, Belphegor straddling him as he forced him to inhale an undiluted dose of the fragrance that had incapacitated the others.

“Don’t… don’t forgive me, Lucifer,” he whispered. Even quieter, “I’ll do this one right.”

Blood. His daft brother had used his own blood as an incense. Were he a spectator, Lucifer might’ve applauded, recognizing the wisdom behind his weapon of choice. Scent, after all, could not be separated from breath. As the essence of Sloth filled the lungs and muffled last words, Pride succumbed to the cloying aromas of Sloth mixed with magic and soul.

Once he was certain that Lucifer was immobilized did Belphegor ease his grip. He didn’t need to look at the sprawled figures of his brothers to perceive the enormity of the situation. This was how insurgencies happened.

“Hurry up, Solomon,” he grunted amongst some other choice words to describe the human.

But time wasn’t—had never been—in his favour. Pulling out the incense, he placed it in the farthest corner with a hand that was nowhere near as steady as his words. Shifting a snoring Beelzebub into a position that looked more comfortable, Belphegor bolted from the room.

Outside, he breathed hard, sagged against the door. The corridor was silent save for his laboured breaths. With mechanical rigour, he jerked into action, taking out a clump of knitted squares, each roughly the size of a potholder. The rough edges of nettle jabbed into his palm.

_Denizens of darkness, awaken—I call upon you now to lend your power—Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth!_

Hurling the woven patches at the door, power coursed through his arms as the squares stretched over the door, forming a tapestry that filled the doorway in a barbed and knitted fog. It wouldn’t last, not when he was the seventh-born… it bought time, but that time wasn’t for him. And now he was committed, had thrown his lot in with the humans he once so despised, seemingly against his own family—and for a moment, his shadowed dark eyes held baffled bewilderment, as if he were not sure how it had all come about.

Still, an object imbued with sin would be a better barricade than a pile of furniture. As Solomon’s magic receded from his body, Belphegor staggered. He peeled his bangs back; they clung to his skin, moist with sweat that mingled with dried blood.

He wasn’t done yet. Rather, whatever had guided him to this exact position at this exact time, wasn’t done with him.

* * *

You opened your eyes to a greyed ceiling that held no familiarity. The sour taste of stagnancy filled a mouth that struggled to open. The pungent odour of brimstone and expired magic assaulted a sense of smell you regretted taking for granted. Physical discomfort scoured a newly rekindled spirit, and that was without the strewn chunks of debris.

All in all, not the best comeback into mortal life.

When a human awoke from slumber, they often experienced a period of disorientation that forestalled any train of thought save the rudimentary impulses of actions that the body obeyed out of instinct. It was meant to be a temporary state, a buffer to transition the host to functional operation after some hours of rest. Which begged the question: how long had your ‘rest’ been?

“…mmuh… grn… uhhm… mmaahhh!”

Your five senses near exploded from the overload: the crumbling of dust that peppered this small room, unidentifiable fragments of random baubles strewn about broken glass and metal, and the guttural growls just beyond the doorway that mingled with the rhythmic clicking of nails against tiles. A beam creaked. Somewhere beyond, fire crackled. The candles that had been around you rolled haplessly on the floor, flames shivered as they charred against masonry.

You had a mouth that you had taken, wasn’t bestowed out of enigmatic charity. Only an idiot would accept without making sure.

When you were certain the unholy shrieks were collapsing from you, you clamped your mouth shut. Scrambling into a crouch, you crawled to the farthest corners away from the terrifying beast, painfully conscious of your mortality. Backed against the wall, the hysteria gradually subsided, the tides of strategy brushing against blind fervour.

The queer fits and starts of your heartbeat rattled louder than the clangour of Cerberus. You stared, unable to move, certain that the arms encircled around these drawn-up knees down to the scrunched toes, were part of you. _I’m back to normal?_ As if anything was normal. You tried again. _I’m human again!_ Nothing. A hand covered half your vision, a warm sensation thrust upon soft flesh and brittle hair. Despite the racket you had just made, no one came. You were alone.

“Grrr…”

The homicidal hound didn’t count no matter how much it—they—oh, whatever—growled. You whipped your head towards the sound, a snarl of your own forming in response. Thought formed into words that struck a larynx—

“Really?”

Yes, really. You’d think your first words would be more spectacular considering this was your third time resurfacing into the material realm with the same body. Your voice cracked, likely from lack of use as the base of your throat lurched. You have never missed your words as you had now, spoken in modulated exasperation that had to be yours and yours alone.

A rush of comprehension hit you low in the stomach. Nearly overcome, you tightened your hands to fists. “I’m back,” you said, hoping you were right. Nothing had ever seemed more significant in that instant, and you hoped that you hadn’t hopelessly and inextricably bonded with a stranger’s body.

Now, if you only had a mirror…

Alas, items of vanity had no place in a crypt. You searched, moving aside jagged pieces of rubble with a shaky foot that gradually grew steadier with time. There were still so many questions that needed answering, but you didn’t belong in this place filled with canine fury and memento mori. Adrenaline was a hell of a motivator, pun intended, as you grabbed a length of iron, digging for anything to get you the fuck outta here.

_Being afraid doesn’t mean you can’t fight back._

Guided by the remembered words of those you hoped to call friends, you reached for the collapsed dish, picking out slivers of glass as you picked up the cakes. One, two… and what appeared to be the third was crushed beyond salvation. You spat profanity like a second language.

Miraculously, or possibly by ‘fate’, the bottles that smelled like Heaven hadn’t shattered. A crack ran alongside the side of one bottle, too shallow for the contents to escape. Sparing a brief blessing for Simeon, you reach out for the flasks— _pop._

Your heart stopped before racing into a frenzy, even after you assured yourself it was nothing more than a snapped seam. Who had the audacity to dress you in these super tight, frilly ribbony bullshit that stretched and tore with every movement? It prickled at your skin, too, until your hands clenched into a fist, ripping off the accursed fabric stitch by stitch until you could move without hindrance.

“…okay, dog,” you growled, two cakes in hand. Storming the exit, you poised yourself before the beast, who flattened all three sets of ears. The whites of their teeth glistened with anticipation. “Eat this!”

* * *

“I see. Would Archangel Michael be accommodating to a parley? We expect to move the body with all due honours.”

“I will inform him. Then could you please review these dispensations that have been compiled by Luke. He has detailed them extensively for your benefit, so they may be a bit… long.”

“And just how much longer do you intend to keep me here, Simeon?” Barbatos asked pleasantly.

He answered just as gamely, with only the slightest dip between their conversation. “As long as I have to.”

“Then I trust that you won’t take offence if I must take my leave promptly.” His eyes remained steady on Simeon’s, hawklike.

“And I cannot let you do that.” His smile remained as if there was no tension that chilled the study. “You must know, Barbatos, that despite appearances, this is far from a coup. Lord Diavolo and the seven princes will remain unharmed. I can even swear to it should you demand so.”

“Even if I take your word at face value, I could never believe that is the same for Luke.”

“I see your point. You may not believe this, but as of recent times, he has learned the necessities of exceptions for every rule, even in his moral code. A remarkable epiphany, and one that can be applied to this situation as well. We will, of course, complete the rest of our term without further incident, I hope, beyond this.”

“Then I hope you are prepared to face the consequences when everything is settled. I cannot stop my pact-holder from acting beyond my scope, but even so, going against the express will of Lord Diavolo cannot be overlooked. Even for you, Simeon. You have presented yourself admirably so far; if you confess everything now, I will do everything in my power to spare you and Luke from the repercussions.”

“That’s very generous of you, and I thank you. But I cannot do that.”

“A pity. I had thought you sensible beyond your years, Simeon. You do realize this current situation can be misconstrued as a catalyst to the reignition of the Celestial War?”

“I’m afraid I must correct you on that,” Simeon swayed his head from side to side, taking the liberty to interlace his fingers as he leaned back. “If a war starts, the catalyst would be the same as before: the simple act of a desperate individual.”

“I beg to differ—”

“Then please, beg.” Simeon made a conciliatory gesture that belied his words as much as the pleasant tenor of his voice.

Barbatos’ smile froze. His hands knotted over a stack of papers that had none of the content Simeon claimed to have, he studied this silken danger with renewed analysis. Oh, he knew well why this angel and Luke had been selected for the program. They were from the militant sector, approved by Michael, general of the Celestial Army. Simeon, righteous and devout. And Luke… both trained in the arts of war despite their benign appearances. Both sophisticated enough to know the folly of open conflict in the Devildom, but sabotage was associated more with demons than their angelic counterparts, no? For the first time since this meeting, he grew uneasy.

But Simeon seemed to recognize that he'd been unnecessarily ominous, for he amended, “Pardon my manners. I thought some levity might be in order, yet the execution was poor.”

“Of course. I realize… that there may still be some strain concerning the last… accident. I cannot say I blame you.”

“A tragedy that has only begun to lose its sting. If the incident was preventable, or at the very least, its legitimate closure inclusive to the other exchange students—Lord Diavolo trusts your abilities to choose the reality with the best outcome; thus, I cannot argue against your judgement any more than I can against Lucifer’s… or the human’s.”

Barbatos had the distinct impression he had just received an agile insult, one barely short of protest.

“May I ask what Luke’s part is in this?”

“Nothing that directly affects your master or the seven brothers. Though,” he scratched his head, “if I had my way, I would’ve kept him from being involved.”

“Yet he is implicated.” His eyes narrowed. “His youth, however, wouldn’t excuse his actions.”

“Yes, I have informed him as much and he is prepared to accept the consequences.” The corner of his mouth quirked as if to suppress a smile. “Young as he is, Luke has proven himself willing to confront an aftermath that others would choose to conceal…” Forgoing rest of subtlety, he very deliberately flattened his hands on the desk. “As a pupil of military doctrine, you may think, but first and foremost as an angel—an angel who takes full responsibility on his commitments.”

The harsh trill of a D.D.D. broke the hostility that mounted behind painted smiles and brittle fingers. The angel loosened his grip to read the notification that popped on the screen.

“Ah! It seems my time is up.” Simeon pushed back his chair. “I sincerely thank you for your time, Barbatos.”

“Not at all. We should do this more often.” He rose as well. “Let us hope all of this will be worth it for the times to come, even if it amounts to the worst of results.”

And Simeon, in all his restrained angelic glory, stepped right up to Barbatos and looked him right in the eye, said, “It will.”

* * *

Luke’s recitation of the ingredients thrummed faintly about your ears as you began to outdistance a sluggish Cerberus that, annoyingly, still managed to drag itself after you.

 _Sylphide Honey, Bittergrass Root, Yew Gloriosa… since we don’t know what tricks the demons will come after you! Simeon said they’d put it near you. I put in_ extra _care that none of the ingredients will hurt. Well, for demons I don’t know… then again, they shouldn’t be eating what isn’t theirs!_

 _Are you saying you_ poisoned _them in case Lucifer or his brothers eat them?_

_Not poison, Simeon!_

You had no leisure to sense hunger, let alone indulge in it. But with the poisoned-drugged-honey cakes backhanded into their maws like frisbees, there was a marked drop in their collective vitality. The left and right heads flopped down, lolling tongues leaving trails of sizzling drool across the floor.

“Oh, fuck off! I don’t have any more!” Dumb bitch didn’t even know how to fetch!

Best two out of three, or so the expression went, but man! If only! You could kick yourself for botching the third cake after you got your ass out of here. Clutching Simeon’s bottles, you raced against the unfed middle head that bellowed your doom.

A screech burst from your lips as you slipped, went tumbling down. Using your body to save the bottles from impact, you scrambled to get up. You were almost at the heart of the necropolis as the last of the catacombs peeled back and away.

“Argh!”

You fell again—this time on purpose. A pop of flame crackled a breadth from your backside; that phrase from grade school: stop, drop, and roll. Choosing to protect the bottles over your head, you’d be lucky if you didn’t get a concussion. Ashes and singed fabric littered your next steps. Damn Cerberus and his fiery breath! Did your calves ache from burns or strain?

Through the blurry outlines of commotion, your knee throbbed as you heard him growl way too close for comfort. You couldn’t move, not fast enough. In a last-ditch effort to break the chase, you launched one of the bottles in a blind throw.

Simeon had said something about each bottle containing concentrated Celestial essence of—oh what the fuck how could you know?! All you needed to hear was the glass shattering upon impact, the growl that shrank to a _yip_ , and you took both as a sign that maybe, just maybe, you could outrun these surrounding terrors into safety, wherever that was.

You managed to fight back nausea despite your heart threatening to burst from your chest. Cerberus had taken a few paces back in astonished retreat, separated by a field of flames and rising cinders that halted the dog in its tracks.

Fire slowly started to spread, accompanied by thickening swirls of silvery smoke. You had no way of knowing that the contents of the bottle, when exposed to demonic essence, reacted with all the explosive bang of heavenly, smiting wrath. Of course, that was why the oils were encased in bottles… but it would’ve been nice if Simeon had warned you!

The pandemonium made it impossible to fathom the precise mechanics behind this development. You didn’t pause to wonder how you created the blaze, pushing yourself ahead. Fear and pain savaged you in equal measure, sapping even energy to speak.

Over there! That was the entrance, you dimly remembered. Spots blotched your eyesight as you clutched now two bottles, your free hand pulling frantically at the railing that hovered just a few feet away from you. Your feet wouldn’t steady. The repetitive howls of the demon dog ached through your ears, stealing concentration. You readied another bottle and, when you realized that the damned dog was getting clever, withdrawing out of range so that even its own flame breath wouldn’t trigger, you snapped.

“Ffff…” The words wouldn’t come. “Haah…”

Light flickered out of the corner of your eye. Wasting no more precious time, you bared your knuckles, staring at the rabid head with barefaced hostility. 

Ripping a dangling piece of fabric off your elbow, you thrust it into the torch hung at the base of the stairs that led up—to freedom. After burning some seconds attempting to uncork the bottle, you gave up, smashing its neck against the wall. Glass splintered, a hole gaping enough for you to thrust in the lit scrap of cloth and heaved it, just as a crouching Cerberus was preparing to spring.

Now or never. Ignoring the blunt impact on your shins, the sharpness stabbing running up your forearms to the tip of your vertebrae, the last bottle that jostled but stayed in your armpit where you had lodged it beforehand, you ran on all fours, hoping that your sister was right, that this _was_ the faster way to go up the stairs.

At last, you glimpsed the outlines of an entrance. Dragging yourself, you clawed past each unforgiving rise, each breath sounding as if they had had to be throttled out of you. Cerberus’ barking grew fainter and you no longer smelled the burning.

You could’ve easily turned to confirm your suspicions. Either you were too tired, or the superstition of never looking back when escaping Hell warned you as you only looked to where you crawled. When your fingers first pressed upon soft wool, you first thought it another hallucination conjured to impede your mindless progress.

This heavy humanness made you want to stay where you were, lying against thick carpet that smoothed like a word that rhymed with ‘home’. The sides of the cylinder pressed uncomfortably into your skin as you somehow found the strength to cling to consciousness, worming atop the halls of the Lamentation, singed and sore and grasping at straws to continue against lethargy.

But you were revived. Surely this was the easier segment of your odyssey: the Hall of Lamentation was familiar, a turf where you knew your directions, and you could exit through the main doors in a flagrant display of your rebellion.

Except you were alone. Almost all of the lights were out and sound dwindled to the pulse of your wearied body. The sparse lighting of the torches on the upper floor were too well managed to sputter as they glowed inaudibly.

You let yourself roll onto your back, grimacing as the effort convulsed your lungs in queasy spasms. Much-needed energy trickled into you, not fast enough. A glazed sheen clouded your face and when your arm twitched to your forehead, it came away sticky. You didn’t look, didn’t want to see the substance. You couldn’t press hard enough against the carpet, to wipe it off.

_The Hall of Lamentation—_

The silence stretched, forcing you to lose your grip on it, so you no longer recognized its beginning or end. In reality, only minutes passed. You did it. You made it out of your coffin and edged out of your grave. So why weren’t you as happy as you should be?

_A whole family, all slaughtered except for the eldest son. A strange story, isn’t it?_

You cursed your memory, hoped that it’d be a curse you carried from this life to the next. What was _wrong_ with you, to remember the most morbid words at the worst possible moment? This had never bothered you in all the times you lived here except that one moment… so why now?

_It’s only a story. No need to be scared—even if it were true, we’re here._

But they weren’t here, not this time. God, you shouldn’t… this couldn’t be you. You defied beasts and demons, fires and sorcerers. You dared to hold your own against impossible odds because you only had yourself to face honestly and vulnerably. So why did you hesitate to admit that you missed the very ones who pushed you into a death you literally crawled out of?

_You’re human, and that makes you different._

An inarguable truth, yes, but you were more than a lamb to be watched over, had a mind and soul that withstood more than most and you were so sick of those who treated you like you were only fit to be guarded, with your feelings deemed expendable. You had hated it with such a vicious storm that ended with a death that had all the glory of a dying ember.

_Ghosts? This house has a history that is quite macabre, it’s true. Remnants of spirits are never too hard to find in the Devildom._

Torchlight flickered, casting long shadows that tempted one to conjure specters, fabricating unnamed dreads until the mind was populated with apparitions, each more frightful than the next. A thump downstairs sent a ripple of goosebumps up and you felt your breaths coming short.

_You’re special to us. I know I… my brothers, too… we’re all new to this. Hey, when the exchange program is over, I’ll ask Lord Diavolo if you can keep your D.D.D. so we can, you know… keep in touch?_

“Hello?” You swallowed. This was how people got killed off in horror movies, dumbass. “Who’s there?”

The most terrifying monsters were the ones you only snatched glimpses, or didn’t even see. With no answer, your dread mounted. Hell, without being able to even _see_ what awaited you, your imagination ran riot. Overwhelmed with one terrifying image after another, each one worse than the last, you stilled as if frozen.

Seizing the last corner of your mind that whispered to you to go out with a bang, you clutched the last bottle. You flexed your legs, found with relief that some strength had returned to them. They were coming behind. Watching you. You kept very still, counting. You could practically smell the smoke your last projectile would cause, a final boom.

You could hear the ghost approach you. Three.

You weren’t going to turn around. You didn’t trust yourself to not die of a heart attack if you did. With infinitesimal movement, you positioned into a squat, legs taut as bowstrings.

A floorboard snapped. Two. Terror cast a thick gloss, but you were certain the door just to the left was Lucifer’s study. Which meant the exit had to be that way, then a turn to the right…

A smoky whiff blew at the exposed part of your neck.

One.

_“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!”_

Tossing behind your crippling thoughts, your last bottle bomb, and a pool of sweat, you propelled yourself into hauling ass, never once looking back and screaming all the way.


	16. Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ol’ Spaghetti Hands is a bit of a limp noodle at the moment (Hehe)  
> Taken from Turban Dictionary:  
>  **The Fuckening:** When your day is going too well and you don't trust it and some shit finally goes down.
> 
> If you think about it, you were doing the Devildom a service. Wasn't Hell _supposed_ to be constantly on fire? And just like all the other services you had provided, on the house! Well… more like in the house in this case, but who was keeping track of semantics?
> 
> Lamentation bore witness to many deaths and demons, but never a birth. So you went forth, baptized in the ashes of a house you had loved more than you hated, crawling from a house that became a womb, swollen with the miracle that was you crawling from something worse than Hell, snatching back your days you had yet to live as if each were a sin.
> 
> That was how a bard would put it, anyhow. It didn't happen that way, not really. But in this place, where there was no God to observe the sins of your name, you could say whatever the hell you wanted. When it came time for you to face Him, He'd be the one to justify your existence.

Your legs gave out and you had to crawl the rest of the way to the door. Unbeknownst to you, it saved your life.

When your fingers finally fumbled the latch open, the bolt sliding back so you could pull back the door, you hacked out a spluttering cough that sent you back onto your knees.

Surrounded by air that didn’t scald your sinuses, you slithered down the doorsteps, unceremoniously face-planting into a patch of grass as you wondered what it was that you had fought so hard to pry back from ‘Fate’. The distended lump that was your body flopped forward. You took your one remaining means of transportation: bracing your shoulders, you rolled over weeds, clinging dirt, and rocks that dug into your back until you smacked your head against iron bars.

You couldn’t tell if the stars were the products of pain or the true lights of the skies that drew over you in an endless expanse. Breathing was no longer a subconscious body function; the pressure of air entering your lungs set them throbbing, forcing you to be acutely aware of each breath. Light burned against your eyelids, burst in a kaleidoscope of colour.

Someone was calling you, each repetition of a name growing louder with muted thumping until both skidded to a halt. You heard your name again, this time in an awed whisper that beheld something sacrosanct.

Your energy was too depleted. Not knowing if the murky figure that hovered over you meant to help or finish off what the house could not, you tried to squint. Your ears pounded. Both your head and throat pulsated. A ripple of cloth stirred the corner of your fogged sight; a small gust swept over your deadened limbs.

“Hhh…” your syllables slurred. “Help… please…”

You struggled to keep your eyes open. What remained of your clothes chafed unbearably against injuries whose origins you couldn’t recall, but the entity who took your leaden arm did it without cruelty. You couldn’t stop your head from lolling back, but their grip on you adjusted after a reflexive gasp of pain escaped chapped lips. You felt yourself being moved, supported.

Blackouts interspersed your consciousness with the stench of ash and stale perfume that wafted from the— _clothes_ was no longer a fitting term for the tattered shreds that covered minimum modesty and not much else. There was too much going on: peals of shouts, the clatter of metal and shingles and your mind. You sensed struggle, you just weren’t sure if it was from you or the person trying to lug you towards what you hoped was a quieter place.

“I don’t… I have to…” You reeled, folding like a lawn chair. Yeah, no; either you stayed down or let him keep holding you.

“It’s fine,” he panted. It had to be a ‘he’; you weren’t close to anyone in the Devildom who went by ‘she’. He said something else but the words reached you as garbled sounds that probably meant to soothe as he finagled his way with you in tow. The bottom of your skull knocked against something hard, and oop, your head rolled back and that was the end of that.

Next thing you knew, a stronger arm supported your head and you heard, “A few burns and some nasty scrapes with glass, but those can be fixed as if they had never happened. However—”

“Don’t say that!” The first voice hissed. “Why are you here, Solomon! You said _they_ were watching you!”’

“They’re distracted,” was the reply. “For how long, I don’t know. I told Simeon to remain for as long as he could, but we can’t stand out here. Give me your stole.”

You moaned. You tried to tell them that you didn’t want to be swaddled. Everything was tinged red as blobs turned into faces and faces turned into warmth.

“It’s all right. You’re safe.” What a childish thing to say. But you believed it with all the trust of a newly born, turning to the source of the voice with pitifully frail hands. “Solomon, we have to get them out of here!”

“Agreed.” Thunder rumbled; so it rained here, too? “We’re here to take you to a safer place, and hopefully get a look at those scratches. Is that alright with you? In the meantime, take this. Do you mind?”

How nice of them to ask like they’d give you a choice. More hands placed themselves around your body, tucking in your arms. A small glass was held to your lips. Barely conscious, you drank. The liquid was thick, left the insides of your mouth cold as it went down your gullet. Whatever it was, it helped. The lump in your throat melted along with a minty aftertaste.

“Ow… it hurts there,” you groaned. Slowly turning your head, you saw spurts of light through your half-closed eyelids, smelling the smoke before hearing a particularly loud _crack._ Everything translated into **not good**. “Don’t—ah!” You flinched.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Luke panicked. “Is this better?”

“We have to get them to Purgatory.” Whispering your name, “I’m going to have to cover you. The situation is loud enough as it is, and announcing your presence isn’t something we should do at this time.”

“Take my cloak, too!” You heard the unclipping of clasps, fabric rustling around your torso. “Solomon, the house!”

“Let’s go.”

You stared at the blaze that enveloped the mansion, growing smaller and smaller as you were carried away. With the heat and radiance of summer daylight, you mused: why couldn’t you make your own sunburst before? You sighed, wondering if you’d ever see such brightness again.

“You did a splendid job.”

You nodded as though you knew what he was talking about.

* * *

It had started with an idea. It was a good idea, jotted down onto a fresh sheet of parchment with tentative hope… that he could do what his predecessors could not, to introduce an age of peace and progression among three realms universally considered irreconcilable in loyalties. And for a time, it had seemed to work.

Who knew something so innocent could cause so much disparity? He could handle his subjects’ discontent, had done so aptly in the past millennia. With the Morningstar as his greatest ally, everything felt possible. Angels, demons, and humans reaching understanding through commonalities of culture and law—and they had indeed been brought together; united against him. Fate was nothing if not a laughing trickster. How else, then to explain the inexplicable? Little Luke, who never stepped foot in Barbatos’ kitchen anymore; Simeon, who had come tonight with a purpose that might breach what accord he had left with the Celestial Realm; Solomon, who stayed well out of sight; you—

“My lord!”

“Barbatos.” He abstained from stating the outcome of the implications. “What was the enchantment outside my door? It took me a while to work through that bit of magic.”

“It seems we have more than one unsolicited company tonight in the castle.” His fingers were pressed against each other, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “I apologize, lord. Simeon had come to discuss topical matters and we were…” He searched for the right words, “…thoroughly engaged.”

Diavolo’s face grew steadily sombre as his steward recounted the details. “Where is he? I should talk to him first.”

“He left. I was unable to stop him.”

He pressed his fingers against his forehead. “A worrying sign.”

“We have a greater worry, my lord.” Gesturing towards the one entering from the opposite passage, one indifferent to intruding on their discussion.

Looking at Diavolo’s quizzical frown, the outsider heard himself saying defiantly, “Your lapdog’s not coming.”

“Belphegor?” The wild-eyed demon with a tottering gait and tremor in his frame implied that he embodied anything but the apathy that had named him Avatar of Sloth. “Is this another revolt?” Diavolo asked, more tired than disturbed.

“What does it matter?” he scoffed, glowing a dangerous aura as his true form surfaced. “I’m done being anyone’s pawn, including yours.” He tossed his pillow aside, assuming a defensive stance. “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like, facing you like this.”

“This display is uncalled for,” Barbatos glowered.

Diavolo made no movement. He let Belphegor approach, step by step. Eventually he opened his mouth: “What do you hope to gain out of this?”

“None of your business,” he snapped. “Since when did you care for what _I_ wanted? Your exchange program, sending _them_ back to the human realm—you don’t care for any opinion that doesn’t align with your manifesto.”

“I needed everyone’s support for the exchange program to have a chance at success, Belphegor,” he spoke with the assurance of a ruler and the malaise of the wearied. “I understood your caution. But Lucifer had informed me that you would be persuaded.”

“That’s a lie,” Each word was laced with the patronizing, soft tones one would use for the simpleminded. “You wanted everyone’s obedience. The lesser demons who objected mysteriously disappeared soon after your verdict, didn’t they?” He shot a look at Barbatos, a likely source for such convenient happenings.

“You only see what you want to see.” The prince gave him an almost fatherly look, lips pursed and brows arched. “I cannot change that. The same goes for your hatred towards humanity. If even Lucifer couldn’t curb your revulsion, or—”

Belphegor cleared his throat, the sound more like an animal’s growl. “Don’t say their name.”

“They were driven to their actions largely by your influence, not ours.” Barbatos eyed him with thinly veiled contempt. “But this is touching, Belphegor. Did you learn to care for them as your brothers had? Or is their name for you alone?”

Diavolo gave a discrete signal, drawing his butler to attention. Master and servant exchanged the briefest of looks; with a short bow, Barbatos exited, gaze lingering on Belphegor with suspense. “Pardon me. I shall be back.”

“I didn’t come all the way here to talk to the messenger.” Refocusing, Belphegor couldn’t help but laugh at the insanity. “Were you any better, though? You’re the one who brought them over. Though wasn’t it more like a kidnapping?”

“Yet even so, they had thrived.” Diavolo looked intently at the blue-manicured nails. “Which brother had cut that short?”

He almost winced at that.

Sensing no answer forthcoming, the lord continued as if there was no demon threatening him. “Why are you doing this, Belphegor?”

“I’m done hearing you preach.” Occult sigils simmered around his tensed hands, the inward curve of his horns, the raised ends of his tail. “Let’s see if the hexes your academy taught were worthwhile. Should be, considering how much you touted them.”

“That’s enough,” Diavolo said, voice flat and deliberately emotionless. “None can deny your actions have contributed to the suspension of the exchange program, as have my shortcomings. Your brothers,” a sinister light wrapped around the prince, “have protected you, but press further and I can no longer overlook your transgressions, even for the sake of Lucifer.”

“I don’t _need_ Lucifer’s protection.” Belphegor grimaced. “I’ll do this myself.”

**“Is—that—so?”**

Everything inside him seemed to freeze up at once. Before he saw the disconcerted expression on Diavolo, the rattling of the door thrown back in blind strength, Belphegor knew. Knew, and feared as he had never been afraid of his eldest brother as he gulped, turned to face him.

Apoplectic: a cheap term that barely captured the dark nimbus that spanned his body like a second suit as each wing flapped independently of the others in frantic attempts to dispel the incense. Leaning heavily against the wall, having had to pause repeatedly when he had mounted the stairway, his rage came off in waves so strong that may have very well produced another being of wrath.

Diavolo’s concerned shout fell deaf on Lucifer’s ears; the latter had his eyes transfixed on Belphegor, who unconsciously took a step backward in response. There were only demons present—there would be no mercy here—but—

“You **dare** attack me, Belphegor?” Lucifer snarled. “You dare attack **all of us?** Our brothers lie in the scent of your blood, you declare mutiny against Lord Diavolo, the laws of his kingdom, and you have the _gall to presume that you will escape unpunished under my protection?”_

“That’s not what I…” Belphegor found his voice lacking, rendered mute by what he beheld in his brother’s face.

His coattails were bedraggled, coiled in tangles around his legs. His face held no colour, as though all vitality had been sapped by his flaming eyes, eyes that scorched crimson beyond the scleras; livid beads of sweat stood out across his forehead like small wounds. His unkempt attire, however, detracted little from the frightening image of Pride that stumbled and towered above Sloth.

Had the aroma been that potent? Solomon had refused to divulge the natures of all components save two, only affirming that they wouldn’t be fatal, but that was no consolation. But Belphegor had agreed to this. By his misbegotten conclusion that he could see this through, he should’ve expected this and more.

“Have you considered, little brother, that I keep matters private _because_ of how little regard you’d give otherwise?” A curse materialized in his none-too-steady palm. “Have you not **disgraced** us enough? Was turning against me once not enough?”

The accusations, no matter how truthful, stung him into flinging back a futile rebuttal. “You never gave us a chance!”

“How can you expect me to when this is all you amount to?” he thundered. “You have always disobeyed me, regardless of which realm we stood! And now—” His voice cut off, and Diavolo realized that Lucifer was suffering from an affliction worse than Belphegor’s magic: betrayal. “Even now! Why it should amaze me, I don’t know. Do you hate me so much to go against everything I stand for? You ought to have—”

“Lucifer!” Diavolo exclaimed with sudden sharpness, surprising even himself. He moved to mediate; or at the very least, mitigate the escalating conflict through the guise of concern. “Can you stand? Let me—”

“I… am fine,” Lucifer mustered with an exertion that disproved his reply. For the first time, he appeared to have noticed Lord Diavolo. He had stayed well out of what was clearly a family argument borne of longstanding resentments till now. But outsider or no, he was still a prince; some decorum must be observed in his presence. More importantly, there were words neither brother wanted to share in front of the sovereign, harsh words Lucifer wouldn’t have been able to take back had they been uttered.

“Lucifer. Where are the rest of your brothers?”

He remained silent, but his face said it all; the fleeting glance aimed at the youngest said more than his voice could.

“Belphegor.” Diavolo furrowed his brows in dismay. “What—no, _who_ —has put you to this?”

He regained his voice, sewing on a sneer and hoping they saw nothing else on his face. “I _wanted_ this.” He raised his shoulders in a provocative gesture of insolence. “I’ve always wanted to see you taken down a notch.”

Lucifer’s fists were balled, clenching painfully against Diavolo’s insistent arm. “I should’ve foreseen this.” Michael had once told him that he was too blinded by his presumptions that he knew best. How foolish of him to think he had grown closer to his youngest brother after mourning you. Sightless idiot he was, to think his remorse had held sincerity. “I should’ve known you would’ve stopped at **nothing** to see our downfall, even in Hell.”

Belphegor’s breath hitched; twisted like a blow. That the pain wasn’t physical didn’t deter the initial shock, disbelief exceeding the grief that would later follow upon hearing:

“My lord, Lucifer.” Barbatos re-entered, appalled. “The House of Lamentation is on fire.”

They turned as one towards Belphegor, who covered his mouth, biting on his lip until blood flowed. Gritting his teeth as though he were tortured, he glimpsed outside the window. He tilted his head when he faced the dumbstruck trio, swallowing back his own incredulity. What now?

Technically, a fire should’ve caused little concern; they were a common essence native to the Devildom, could easily be withstood by most with the correct enchantments. Yet even before learning that this fire contained both Devildom and Celestial components (thus near-impossible to extinguish), Lucifer felt a roaring pulse in his ears as his world, once so certain in his grasp, crashed around him. Diavolo tightened his grip, reminding him that he couldn’t fall apart, not yet.

Lucifer rose, whirling towards his brother with a speed that startled Belphegor into a wary back-step. He hadn’t been present at Lucifer’s initial confrontation with their Father, had been with Lilith, swearing that he’d never let her come to harm. He hadn’t seen his brother’s awesome rage that had heralded their battle and excommunication.

Now he understood why it had taken both Father and Michael to quash that rage.

“What have you **DONE?!”** Lucifer screamed.

Curious that you were the first image that flashed across his mind. There was a Cerberus-sized dog door his pet could escape through, unless—no, Cerberus would make it through somehow. Henry, being in a fishbowl, had no such escape. Yet it was not these living creatures that made his heart falter, slipping back into an old nightmare that surged like lightning. It was you. Why?

“Indeed, Belphegor.” the prince said, very softly. His face had changed; his eyes turned alarmingly pale, unyielding as brimstone. “That is a question I must have answers to. Barbatos,” Diavolo pointed in iron command, “See if the other Avatars can be revived. Quick! First… have the Avatar of Sloth detained. We will question him once everything is settled. I’m sorry, Lucifer.”

“Like I’ll let you do that!” Belphegor shouted, an orb of purplish fire flaming at the tips of fingers.

“Assault on multiple members of the Student Council. Sedition against the monarchy. Arson upon property sanctioned by his liege lord of the Devildom—desecration of a human corpse.” Barbatos listed with a glint, advancing as slowly and resolutely as Belphegor withdrew. “Any of these, if proven true, can be charged as treason.”

Belphegor barely kept control of his bladder. Terror lurched through him, screaming to flee. “I didn’t cause the fire.” His voice emerged steady despite the fear.

“Prove it.” Barbatos clipped.

He heaved a sigh. “Interesting. You try proving you _didn’t_ do something.”

No one answered him. For a breadth of time that had no meaning, time that couldn’t be measured, Lucifer stared at his brother, staring but not seeing, the only sound in his ears being his laboured breathing, heavy with bitten-back reproaches. Then several things happened at once, so fast a mortal eye couldn’t have understood.

Belphegor dove sideways, hurling his own hex in retaliation as he dodged Barbatos’. A cabinet crashed open as Belphegor felt something snag his horseshoe, wrenching his right shoulder with a ferocity that jabbed his collar against his throat. Breath disappeared and his struggle lost direction. Belts snapped, cloth ripped, and momentum threw him, shirtless, into a trap. Magic swarmed, their casters indistinguishable. Lucifer hurled a binding seal, bellowing in pain and anger as he did so.

_You fool. Keep fighting and your guilt will be irrefutable._

“These words shall become the melody that draws forth… I bind thee, and rob thee of thy freedom!”

It rankled, to fight single-handedly against three of the most powerful demons with no real hope of victory. Yet he stilled, magic yanking his arms behind his back with an audible snapping noise. A teal jinx gouged into Belphegor’s flesh, clamping pain that robbed him not only of his freedom, but speech.

“My brothers…”

“Of course, Lucifer.” Diavolo reassured, relieved that Lucifer could finally stand unaided. “Can you fly?”

“Wait…”

Barbatos stepped aside, let him approach Belphegor who, having been subjected to spellwork that could subdue a legion, couldn’t move a muscle to save his life. Magic alone kept the youngest demon upright, allowing him to see the perspiration on Lucifer’s temples, the spasmodic movements of his face that seemed at odds with his unmoving gaze.

“Lucifer.”

The firstborn raised his hand; that was all it took for Diavolo to fall quiet as prince and steward waited. For one dreadful instant, Belphegor wondered if his brother meant to strike him.

Leaning so that their foreheads almost touched, he whispered, voice faint as dying embers in a fireplace. “Never,” he rasped, “tell me that you care for our brothers after this. Never tell me that anything you do will ever be for our family.” He shuddered. “There is no way on this realm, or the next, that you can ever justify this.”

Then he was walking away, his words depriving Belphegor of air more than any act of physical violence ever could. There was too much on his mind to wonder what the three discussed in hushed, intense tones before two left, leaving him to Barbatos.

“If you give me any excuse to kill you where you stand, it would make matters significantly easier.” He smiled coldly. Skeletal wings that graced the sides of his face unfurled with admirably restrained power. 

Belphegor grunted, having no intention of fulfilling that offer, nor was he inclined to satisfy the curiosity of the demons, servants, and courtiers who stepped aside to let Barbatos and his burden pass, watching the seventh prince with looks that ranged from awestruck to condescension to intrigue. He refused to look at his audience, tried not to cringe when pain multiplied throughout his body, tried not to think at all.

“Though anything you say at this point is likely to be turned against you,” Barbatos hissed into Belphegor’s ear. A panel swung open and Belphegor lost his footing, felt himself hurled inside with the sharp click of magic sliding like a bolt, away from his body and toward the bars and lock of a chamber.

His fall ended abruptly as his head slammed against an overturned stool. He collapsed on the floor, pain hammering from his head to abdomen. He had never been in the dungeons of Diavolo’s castle before. He could only assume that it was the familiar concept of confinement that made the walls so familiar; a prisoner was a prisoner whether the walls had tapestries or magically reinforced bars. How else to explain this ridiculous feeling of déjà vu? He had certainly never been Diavolo’s prisoner. Until now.

After instructing the guards to oversee their newest prisoner, Barbatos walked over to the bars, lowering his voice to a grating murmur. “Is there anything you would like to inform me concerning our shared human?”

“…”

“True to his title, our pact-holder has wisely stayed away from this matter. A convenient lie, is it not?” Magic tingled, drawing Belphegor in and forcing him to look up as his forehead pressed uncomfortably against the spells designed to keep him in. “Fastidious as he is, he is not all-seeing… and how he has tamed you so, Belphegor. Or did you truly think your blood and rank would forever absolve your crimes, and that you would never be held accountable?”

Barbatos twisted his hand; Belphegor bristled but made no other attempts to resist as Barbatos drew him closer to the point of pain. “Will you implicate no one else, now that you cannot hide behind the might of Lucifer?”

“…”

“Very well. The wisdom to speak will come in time, and that you will have. Of course, it has been acknowledged that wisdom comes from pain as well.” Barbatos gazed at the dotted abrasions across Belphegor and then straightened up. “I will endeavour to choose, then, the best reality from where you will emerge very wise.” 

The sweat on his backside turned cold. “It wasn’t me. The fire…” 

“I believe you think that.” He stepped back, did something sharp and brutal—or was it simply the release of magic upon untended injuries? Whatever it was, Belphegor doubled over, plummeting into a limp bundle of cloth scraps and reopened wounds. When he could think without wanting to throw up, it was just him and the guards who shifted uneasily at his presence. He was still an Avatar, a member of the class other demons had been indoctrinated since conception to obey without question.

Demons were, however, still creatures of malevolence that sensed weakness as vultures scented carrion. As the sentries whispered amongst themselves, Belphegor rolled to face the wall. Any other would’ve been drawn and quartered for half the misdeeds he committed. But he was no mere demon. He was an angel once, an angel whose broken love for humanity destroyed his world as he once knew it. Then, a demon whose hatred gutted the life of one who should’ve been cherished. Now… now…

Not even the established gulf of mismatched priorities between him and Lucifer could dampen the impact of the latter’s shocked disbelief that had voiced an eon of brotherly love denied. He thought he could confront his brother’s anger. He had not been prepared for the anguished accusations that would haunt dreams and wakefulness alike.

Already he felt the gashes closing up, flesh knitting back together with the power of his sin. It didn’t help. He had to believe all of this would be worth it in the end. If he had failed… no, he couldn’t have.

Damn Solomon and his command that gagged him. Worst was that it wasn’t even the enforced bidding of a pact, which meant that the only thing keeping him back from confessing to the Devildom that he had fought a laughably senseless battle for the sakes of the very ones who opposed him was—a bet. A bet to will your return, which would restore his brothers’ happiness and maybe, just maybe, atone, albeit fractionally.

But would you call that egotistic, too? After all, you had made it clear you hated his home, calling it a ‘pit’ and whatnot. Very possible you’d try to kill him for dictating your livelihood, bringing you back and forth from darkness to light, like a light switch. On, off, here, gone, alive, dead.

_Follow my command, and it will be your victory. Fail, and your brother’s freedom is forfeit, along with the unconditional fulfillment of your most desperate wish._

_You know nothing of my desperate wishes, human king._

With no one to moderate the influx of futures shimmering before him, futures of your hate (which he thought he could live with), Lucifer’s despair (he was supposed to be angry, nothing else), and… could he receive forgiveness if none of this worked out and you rejected them all? Or would this be one sin too many from him to be absolved, even from Beel?

Would anyone hear him scream?

He wished he had the incense, or at least his pillow. He disdained the cocktail of blood and incantations Solomon had put, but it had also smelled like you. Soul-imprints you had left in Purgatory Hall, unintentional marks you had left behind. Prana, Simeon called it. Minute residue of your life force, mixed with the essence of Sloth and Solomon’s talent to lull the brothers into a rich sleep they wouldn’t want to leave because the dreams would carry your afterimage.

But they would only dream good dreams. The hand that had grasped the censer was fragrant with a faint scent. When he put it to his nose and sniffed, another wistful thought lingered. This ‘perfume’, let’s call it, couldn’t hoodwink him because he had helped create it. He was the only brother for whom it was meaningless.

And Lucifer. Something about him being the strongest, or that he wasn’t as pulled because he didn’t pact with you. What did it matter? He was still locked up, again. It’d be like before; would Lucifer lie a second time to where their youngest brother was? There would be no luckless human passing by this time, that was for certain. Who could defy Diavolo? There was a real chance, more real than last time, that he would never walk free ever again.

Maybe they’d kill him. What, then? Your life for his? It tormented him, waiting for the unknown. Solomon had laughed at his trust, as though he expected Belphegor to know better than to barter with him. There was no guarantee. But the demon had still snatched at the offer because it was all that was left.

He wanted you back. He wanted everything back, even if it had to be the way it was. Too bad everything he wanted never came how it should. He wanted Lilith; her heir, he crushed with his bare hands. This time, he wouldn’t even get to see.

Staring at the straw scattered before him in his prison cell, he imagined each to be a feather, once snow-white. His wings had been ripped out in tufts, smote so badly they grew gangrenous, had to be removed completely.

Belphegor tilted back, hand over his face. Maybe there was enough fragrance left on his hand to try and dream. Better than to let it fade to nothing. He’d know in three minutes.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

“Simeon! You’re back!”

“How was it?”

Accepting Luke’s embrace with a forced smile, he wondered how to protect Luke from what he would have to say. His eyes surveyed Solomon with a strange intrigue, a message flashing between them. “Yes, Luke, I’m back.” He looked down, frowned at the brown that streaked the gold. “Did you fall somewhere?”

“A bit, but I’m fine!” Bits of dirt clung to his hair, but for once, the child was unconcerned to maintaining the pristine image of an angel. “We, er, might be in a little trouble, though.”

“About that,” Solomon added. “We don’t know yet. If we act further, though, we might. Did Barbatos attempt to stop you from coming back?”

“There were several curse traps I had to countermand,” Simeon gave a little grin as though he had been entertaining a child’s tricks, “which held me back more than they should’ve, I confess.”

“You’re losing your edge, Simeon,” Solomon shook his head.

“Perhaps you are, as well. Imagine my surprise at seeing the House of Lamentation in a fiery blaze. I was under the impression that this was to be done with… discretion.”

“We were dealing with a lot of unknown factors.” Solomon shrugged, anticipating Luke’s next words. “No, Luke, it wasn’t your doing. And if we’re being fair, the demons would have a defence system. We just didn’t know what. Your herbology knowledge helped immensely in neutralizing Cerberus.”

“Plants _are_ my forte, but…” Luke huffed, suppressed a shiver. “But what do we do now? What if someone saw us go through the gates?”

Solomon folded his arms, leaning against the wall. “We’d most likely be summoned to Lord Diavolo’s presence to provide an explanation. If that fails, most likely we’ll be condemned. Exile back to our respective realms if we’re lucky and handed over to the dungeons if we’re not.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Luke spoke, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. “What with all they did!”

“Assuming,” Simeon countered, “that they come up with solid evidence.”

“Which they’ll make up if they can’t find them the old-fashioned way,” you grumbled, slamming the door shut behind you as the toilet flushed.

“Now, I’m sure Lord Diavolo wouldn’t…”

It was you, and you were human.

For a heartbreaking moment, Simeon thought he could see through Father’s eyes of love. Humans, soaked in both sin and the blessing of their Creator, were lambs that could be nestled against the bosom as easily as they could be led astray to temptation. But seeing you enter the room with uncombed hair—real hair—as your weight wrinkled the clothes on you, pressing on the doorframe, announcing your presence with the miraculous joy of the mundane.

“Any improvements?” Solomon asked as if you hadn’t interrupted.

“None,” you seethed with discomfort. “You know what, it’s fine. Something always goes wrong with this kind of crap and I guess being constipated for the rest of my third life is just swell.” A hand winched closed around your too-heavy stomach. “If I push any harder I think I’ll poop my intestines out.”

“Now, now,” he called your name in chiding amusement, “it’ll come with time. You’re doing very well, adjusting back into your mortal life considering your especial circumstances. But these bodily functions are important. Simeon, you recognize our guest?”

Blinking back the primal surge of emotion, he smiled, clutching at his composure. He didn’t want to scare you off, and Solomon had warned him beforehand that you might suffer… memory loss. He wanted to be tender with you, the way one would treat an abused animal that needed time and space to settle down.

“Thank you,” he kept his words soothing, calm, designed to set the listener at ease, “for coming back to us.”

And you, with your obstinate bowels and uncertain posture, as though you were still adjusting to your mortal vessel, looked confused. A small crinkle formed between your eyebrows as your head leaned to one side. Your lips half-opened as if to speak, but you closed them again.

Perhaps he had jumped the gun there. Simeon scratched his head; should he have introduced himself? How strange, to re-acquaint with someone he had come to know rather closely. But they had known this. He cleared his throat, beholding your overcast expression with a pang of melancholy. “I… pardon my rudeness. My name is—”

“Oh, I can’t do this.” A burst of air escaped your lips. “I’m sorry, Simeon. Solomon insisted it was a good trick but man, I feel so bad.”

“Aw! You almost had him!” Luke pouted but otherwise grinned from ear to ear, revelling in the glee of being an accomplice instead of the victim for a change. “Just a few moments more!”

“Listen, I’m a sucker for amnesia romance movies, but come on!” You doubled over, unable to hold back your laughter that came in snorts. “Sorry, Simeon, I really am—”

Solomon repressed his amusement the best; typical. “Before you decide on smiting me or not, Simeon, let me just say this. The transition of a soul into a body always results in side-effects and memory loss _is_ the most common symptom. But my fellow human exchange student,” he flashed you a glance of approval, “is quite something else. I should’ve known this.”

“Could’ve gotten the classic plot twist of memory loss, but nope, all I get are constipation and nervous energy.” Your limbs were a little shaky with excess adrenaline, Simeon noticed when he saw you up close. “Even now, life finds a way to shaft me.”

“The former will resolve itself in time,” Solomon assured. “The latter—are you sure you don’t want to rest first?”

“Are you kidding?” You raised your hands with an expression that epitomized the devil-may-care attitude. “I have shit to… to do.” You avoided Simeon’s reproachful gaze. Oops.

“Don’t worry, Simeon! They told me it’s a word that’s only used during—”

“Peace, Luke. You shouldn’t use such words at all, even when the context condones it.”

You bit your lip. Fine, something in the Bible… Ezekiel? No, too vulgar for Luke. Then you thought of it. Cheesy, you had to admit, but still worked. “Sorry, Luke. But yeah, don’t use that word anymore.”

“Aw.”

“Instead, anyone who’s mean to you, you can call them ‘ass’.”

He perked up. “Really?”

“Absolutely. The Holy Scripture says it, too.” You gave Simeon a shit-eating grin. You were off to a great start and if, by chance, you really forgot anything, then… well, can’t miss what you didn’t have! You remembered why you were here, where you once belonged, and who you were with. What else was there? Oh, right: who you had to face. “But don’t say it to Simeon, okay?”

“Do I count?” Solomon jibed.

“Very funny,” you aimed a cuff at his head; a near miss. “Let’s go.”

“Go… where?”

Anywhere you could start your warpath.

“Well, I have to fix this mess up somehow, don’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This game has too many events, please give me a breather :'(  
> So when Belphegor busted out of prison the first time, Diavolo and Barbatos busted their full power to drag him to the dungeons. Fair, considering he intended mass genocide.  
> So when Belphegor _kills_ the one human crazy enough to give him freedom, Diavolo and Barbatos perform a live-action retcon, plucking the same human from a different dimension and dump some exposition to gloss a happy ending. Cool party trick with convenient exposition dump and Belphegor doesn't even get a slap on the wrist.  
>  **Hahahahaha** don't mind me, I'm not cheesed at all.  
> Also, S2 feels really… is it just me or does the MC have even _less_ autonomy and dialogue options have boiled down to "Oh yes I love you mwah I'm always in support of you" or "Same as option 1 but I agree more coyly to put an illusion of my nonexistent independence and opinion"  
> Well, fanservice is still fanservice, and a girl's gotta eat.  
> Thanks to ForeverAlone5 for beta!


	17. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange to think there was a time when witches were put to the torch for cavorting with demons, while those touched by angels were venerated as saints (after they, too, were burned for supposed heresy.)  
> Now the gifted have become smarter… or the masses love their ignorance too much to realize the supernatural continues to mingle among the lambs. But they're there. They could watch through the feathers of a crow, the strut of an alley cat, the curl of a shadow. Let's say you grow to want, to see your heart's desire fulfilled at the expense of your soul. Then by all means, search for these entities and pay. When it comes to it, a price is demanded by angels and demons alike.
> 
> For one as ordinary as you, they should be content to pass over, just another of the flock. Chances are you may never be noticed at all. If you are clever, you will be thankful for such a boon. If you are unlucky, then pray for it to end quickly. Sometimes, all it takes to be noticed is a whisper. But if you're a dumbass, and seek them out, don't worry. They always find you first.
> 
> So be careful. If you scream long enough, God will hear you.  
> And should you wish to see the Devil, then you'd better start knocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who think the protagonist is too dickish, I say: you're absolutely right. And they love it. Most of the time.  
> Come on, the premise of the game is to make the demons _obey_ them, not the other way around.  
> Am I supposed to put in the tags "MC is an asshole" like wat  
> Hoping I make it gender-neutral enough but I cannot control the assholery
> 
> Sometimes I look back and think _Holy shit how did I write this I was just another lurker and still am_
> 
>  **Chapter 17 (Obey Me!):** Where MC very graciously bridges the gap between the murderer and his brothers  
>  **Chapter 17 (Fuck you!):** Where MC bridges… something… and has a grand old time in their dickish ways
> 
> This chapter is **_long_** because I couldn't find a good stopping point until I finished writing.

Fingers dug into the carpeted floor of the angels’ bedroom as you bit back a cry of rage indistinguishable from pain. Now that there was no constant course of adrenaline, you were, put simply, stuck. You shook your head with a mute look when Simeon took you into his arms with embarrassing solicitude.

“Was the latest trip to the bathroom that terrible?” Solomon asked once you were tucked in bed. You insisted that you could drink without help. He watched with some amusement as you held the plastic mug as though the slightest slip would cause it to shatter.

You scoffed. “Sure. Absolutely.” You drank like one dying of thirst, then looked around. Good; it was just you two in the room. “Fuck…” you gulped it down before it could climb back up your esophagus, “Fuck me, this sucks.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a proposition?”

You clenched your jaw. “Just memories I could’ve done without.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Your body would retain powerful resonations of its experiences. As humans, we owe death a life and you have been overcharged. Though I confess,” he took your empty cup, “you’re doing extraordinarily well in adversity.”

Pain wove through your belly and your only answer was silence. It was all too vivid, really. The demon’s sneer as you fell. He had meant it, his hate of humans as well as his glee at your suffering. Everyone who had fucked you over because your life meant nothing more than a means to an end. Until you couldn’t take it anymore—and you had to do _something_ back. But what could one human do but burn?

No. Remember why you came back. Solomon had encouraged you to remember as much as you could, especially from when you were ‘the ordinary person you profess to be’. You had wanted to hit him but when you recalled your mother’s voice with near-perfect clarity you were too busy trying not to cry.

“Do you recall your pacts?”

Duh. Hard to forget the dopey grin Mammon wore when he got his credit card. Huh. Everyone had looked happy when they forged a pact with you, despite that a pact rendered them subservient to their human master. Did they smile because the time spent had been as meaningful to them as it was to you? Or because they knew how inept you’d be?

Would it be easier to believe that they were lying all along? Could you do that to yourself, to deem this entire experience a mistake? Grumbling, you realized he was still waiting for an answer.

“The pacts…”

“Yes,” he prompted.

“I never signed away my soul,” you replied with an effort as if it were the biggest secret you had. “For any of them.”

“Good,” Solomon nodded. “As always, your resilience is impressively human.”

You didn’t think so. Where was the you who rared to face the Devildom, who foolishly sought to fix everything they had screwed up? Not here! After the prank and some cookies, a bowel movement had compelled you to give it another go to relieve this annoying constipation and whoop, there you were: attic room, laughing demon, council boom, screaming demon. Next thing you knew, you collapsed onto the ground, repeating those lines under your breath until Simeon came. Like a nursery rhyme. Might as well strip and run off to the nearest nuthouse.

_Bang!_

“…and why did you do that?”

That was going to leave a lump on your head. But the pain you made, the one you had control over, distracted you from the pain inside your mind that was soaked into your body like a stench, one that reeked of a lifetime of regrets you had harvested. You tilted your head forward again.

“Enough of that.” Solomon adjusted the arrangement of pillows so you couldn’t smash your cranium against the bedframe anymore. What a helpful fucker he was.

Who knew flashbacks could be this poignant? You bit your tongue, tasting blood. There was no easy way out for this. Well, there had been; but you had denied it. Otherwise, Solomon couldn’t have led you back. But this _was_ Solomon; how much of his words could you believe? Why did you come back?

“Will you not allow yourself to be helped?” he tilted his head.

You smiled instead of speaking. It was not a complacent smile. You weren’t going to talk for the sake of talking; you’d rather Solomon continue with his preening. Christ, were you still human? If so, how much?

He bent his head towards you, a single hasty glance diving into your eyes for the answers you could now hide.

“Still stubborn, I see,” he chuckled. “And angry. Very consistent, and dare I say, reassuring.”

“I left your music player,” you said unexpectedly. “I would’ve taken it with me.”

“Not mine,” he corrected.

“Shut up,” your voice had more exhaustion than bite. “You know what I mean.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Of course I did.” Something wistful touched your sweat-drenched face. “It was… it was good.” You cleared your throat. “It was like remembering being human.”

“You _are_ human. As am I.”

You snorted. “You’re an overpowered king over demons and I’m a soul that crawled back to its corpse.” Strange how you managed the words without difficulty. “Maybe my body will decay as I move around. Like a zombie? That’d be cool.” No, it wouldn’t.

“Who knows?”

“You would, asshole.”

And of course Simeon had to open the door at the exact moment with his pupil in tow.

But the angels barely registered your words. “They’re at the… where the House of Lamentation was.”

You immediately fell quiet, digesting the words. “So it’s gone?”

Luke looked to you with careful scrutiny; how did you feel about it? The demons were foul creatures, true, but burning down their home… had sounded great in theory; righteous, even. Fire cleansed as much as it destroyed sometimes. But seeing the house gutted by fire, he had been shocked by the scene he had glimpsed: the roaring inferno engulfing from foundation to the topmost tower, the crackling flames drowning out all other sounds. You had barely survived this, and the demons… where would they live?

Your face was stilled with intent. And then your eyes sparkled with light. “Was there anyone else?”

“None,” Solomon confirmed.

The spark intensified. So no one was hurt; you were glad, but… just you to deal with everything once again.

“Oops,” you said with just the right amount of savage satisfaction to juxtapose the simplicity of your remark. Simeon shot you a look of mild surprise as Solomon turned contemplative once more.

“It wasn’t your fault!” He had to say something to relieve the expression you held. Were you about to cry? Laugh? Scream? He didn’t know, only knew that whatever it was, worried him very much.

“But it was, Luke,” you stared at your hands and the tendons that protruded from your knuckles. “And it’s only a matter of time before they realize.” You tried to laugh, but it sounded more like you choked. Could’ve made your first real crime in the Devildom less conspicuous; shit. “I’ma head out.”

“And go where?”

“Shh,” you reached out to soothe the boy. “It’s not like I’m going to let any of you guys take the fall for me.”

“You’re going to Diavolo? And confess?” He demanded incredulously.

“There’s no need for that,” Simeon urged you back into bed. “You have gone through enough, dear lamb.”

“Besides,” Solomon reached for the brownie platter Luke had brought in, “they will come to us soon enough. They already have the prime suspect under custody.”

Your fingers traced the white hem of the formless robe you now wore; a spare Purgatory set. It fit you as well as a hospital gown; better than charred cloth. “They’ll sense my soul eventually, won’t they?”

“All of them have their hands full at the moment,” Simeon wetted a towel, began to pat down the sweat on your cheeks, “but do you want to see them?”

You hesitated for a heartbeat—dreading their reaction to an answer formed since revival. “I do.”

“After everything they did to you?” Luke’s mouth fell open. “Why?”

Why, indeed. “They’ll discover once they take care of the fire and find me anyways.” Your teeth clicked; let them notice. You were done running away. “Also, I’m very curious as to how they’d react.” Anticipation stirred; you hated excessive theatrics but this was one spectacle you wanted to observe firsthand. Come on! How could you not want to participate in such a cinematic moment? How long would they care?

“Is that… the sole reason?” Simeon asked.

“What does it matter?” The haunting images of deceit and bloodshed settled at the back of your mind. “Isn’t it enough that I go?”

“Even if it might mean that Belphegor would be exonerated?”

Did Solomon seriously think you hadn’t thought of that? “If Diavolo’s actually stupid enough to do that just because I…” Yes, he could be. “Yeah. Might as well, for burning down their house. Then I can go home after this. I’ve been meaning to go to the library. Should be something to erase everything from my mind.” You were rambling; you couldn’t help it. Now you _had_ to plan everything. “They have to let me go, Diavolo promised. A memory potion; that’s a thing, isn’t it? Then I forget and go back and… live as I always… then everyone could be… it would be perfect and…”

Oh, fucking God. Why tears? You hated crying; it annoyed you and you wouldn’t give into them before these people who already had done so much for you. It was so unforgivably unfair. You blinked them back, taking the towel to vigorously scrub it against your eyes.

“It’s hardly perfect if you’re the only one who pays the price.”

At least someone who wasn’t you said it aloud. Even if it was Salmon.

“I don’t think there _is_ a perfect solution for this.” No shit, Simeon. But what could you do? You looked up with a sigh, squinting balefully at the clock on the wall, the stupid Devildom clock that continued to operate, uncaring of the events that had transpired as it ticked the time away.

Would it be so terrible to forget? You were remembering too much. You almost wished that Solomon was right and that some of your memories were sacrificed in exchange for your life.

“I want to be alone.” You said without emphasis or inflection, but there was something else in your voice that made them obey, something stronger than a pact. Even Luke appeared to understand, for he gave your hand a small squeeze, being the first to leave.

You needed time to think. You told yourself that it wouldn’t be used to unspool your emotional wounds and throw yourself an internal pity fest, monologuing to yourself about what you should and shouldn’t do, imagining what you’d do.

Bullshit.

Belphegor—no, let’s not touch that now. You were gravitating between dislocating his jaw and giving him a high-five for the shining success of his fuckery and there wasn’t a middle ground action for those two extremities. 

Funny thing, trauma; It had a way of forcing you to refocus on what you once lost sight of. You were still desperately anxious for your family (and what about school? Your _human_ school, that is), but you also thought of his brothers. Psh. They’d get over it. Just like your first death. Demons popped in and out of existence all the time so why should this be any different to them?

Maybe you already slipped off the deep end a long time ago and this was some bizarre retrogressive therapy. If you prayed to God, would He answer? Him or the Devil, who would answer first?

Which devil were you thinking about?

You wished you could cry. But what were you waiting for? You persevered so far without such tears, why should you start now?

* * *

_Get the fuck up. He is coming._

After the countless nightmares of everyone dear to him leaving, some ripped from his very arms, Beelzebub didn’t want to leave.

Eight people sat around the table, a feast spread out before his eyes. His brothers were talking and laughing, even Lucifer, who seemed so relaxed as he said something to Satan that made both of them grin. On the other side of Lucifer sat Belphegor, you, and… Lilith.

Everything glowed in warm light and the banquet couldn’t have looked more mouthwatering. But when they saw him, their faces shone in the greatest pleasure that filled his eyes and heart. You elbowed Belphegor’s ribs with a smile, both of you gesturing to sit between them. His sister beamed, holding out her arms. Betrayal and death held no place here. All of them were friends, family, beloved. What was a thousand cheeseburgers to Lilith’s embrace, Belphie’s arm around his shoulders, and you sandwiched between them with a brilliant smile, your hand stroking his head?

For the first time in ages, he felt so full he could burst. He had everything he could ever want. Even if it were a dream… Belphegor leaned forward; his breath tickled. He was laughing as he whispered:

**Help me.**

“Beel! Wake up!”

He groaned, the pleasant stupor wearing off fast as hands urgently shook him by the shoulders. Dreams now usurped by dreary reality, his hunger swelled to a spasm of pain in both heart and stomach. “I’m hungry…”

Musical laughter rang false. “I know. Get up, big guy. I’ll get something to eat for you soon. Come on, now.”

“Asmo?” He blindly groped, grasping something squishy, eliciting a small squeal of delight. He immediately let go.

“Ah, wait, this isn’t the time,” Asmo caught himself. “We have to leave.”

“Leave?” He repeated the word, still fogged by the Edenic dream that dissipated like sand through his fingers. “And go where?” A muscle near his eye twitched. “Where is everybody?”

“They’ve gone ahead,” he replied patiently. “There’s still time to go.”

“Asmo.” His eyes darted around the vacated premises. “What… what about Belphie?”

At that, his entire demeanour shifted. Too late he caught himself, continuing with artificial cheer, “We’ll get to that later. Lucifer needs us now.”

“Where’s Belphie?” He clung to his brother’s sleeve with increasing desperation. “Asmo?”

“Your house is currently in flames. Your elder brothers have already gone ahead to salvage what they can. Lord Diavolo has accompanied them to prevent the spread of further damage.”

Asmodeus winced as Beelzebub hunched over with a stifled gasp. He had been horrified, too. But did Barbatos really have to say it so bluntly as that? Calmly looking over the two remaining brothers, he continued in measured tones, “Lucifer has stated that you are to stay behind as backup until you are needed, Beelzebub.”

He shook his head, still disoriented. “I… I don’t understand.” Lucifer said that he trusted him. Wasn’t he the most physically capable? And the specifics hadn’t eluded him— “Is Belphie with them?”

“Beel—”

“Is he hurt in the fire?!” Beel cried.

“No.” Barbatos leaned forward, his voice significantly chilled. “Your concern for your brother is unwarranted. He is where he planned to be, given his impertinence matched by his luck. Better to worry for yourself, Avatar of Gluttony.”

“Where is he?” His desire to know and the dread of unknown danger overshadowed the anger that should’ve followed the slight towards his twin. “He’s okay?”

“He is alive, without a single lasting injury.”

The words should’ve been reassuring, but Beelzebub grew more frightened as he wildly looked from Barbatos to Asmodeus with spiralling agitation. “Then…”

“He betrayed you, and the rest of your brothers.”

Seeing Beelzebub react, the butler relaxed a tad, content that the astonishment was sincere on the demon’s face. A metallic shard of a thurible, sealed inside a translucent orb, materialized atop his outstretched palm. “He used his own power to disable all of us and set fire to your home.” He snapped his fingers and the object vanished. “We will conduct a thorough investigation afterward, but with the information we have now…”

Asmodeus maintained his grip on Beelzebub with increasing difficulty as the latter struggled to make sense of this madness.

“That can’t be… no! That’s not right! Why would Belphie do this!” He appealed to no one in particular, unable to look at their pitying sadness. What good was he as a brother and demon to fail so miserably like this? Was this punishment for not being strong enough for all three realms—was losing two of the dearest ones in his life not enough? How was he to bear losing another?

“Did you truly have no idea that Belphegor would do something like this?” Barbatos pressed.

“No,” he eked out. “He wouldn’t tell me…” He should’ve tried harder. “When he wanted to be alone, I thought he was just tired and… and grieving over them.”

Appropriately sceptical, he bore witness to Beelzebub’s breakdown with professional conduct before resuming, “Lord Diavolo has confirmed that the fire had been kindled from the underground tomb. Only a resident of Lamentation would have been able to enter without raising an alarm.”

“But…”

“And only one is known to have had relations with the newest addition to the tomb that would serve as a motive for… this.” Ageless eyes pierced through both brothers. “And as the one who stands closest to him, Avatar of Gluttony, you are also suspected as a potential accomplice.”

Asmo’s protests in his defence were lost to the pounding reverberating through Beelzebub’s ears. Brittle strength deserted him and he landed on the ground, every part of his body jarred by the force of impact. Blinded and stunned, he struggled to escape from this motionless daze. Warm wetness coated his face.

“He was knocked out right along with us!” Lust snapped. “Lucifer said so!”

“I am stating the facts as they are,” Barbatos brushed him off to look into Beelzebub’s vacant expression. “These are serious criminal charges that not just the accused must answer to, but also reflects on those who shared responsibility for monitoring his conduct.”

Beelzebub struggled to sit up. Wiping his cheek, he could see again, and suddenly he was fully conscious, sinking into the realizations that you and Lilith were gone forever, and wishing he could drown.

“Then take him to Lord Diavolo!” Asmo’s face was ashen. “He can tell lies from the truth, right?!”

“I need to see.” Beelzebub started to reach for the wall. “I need to go.”

“I cannot let you see Belphegor. No demon except Lord Diavolo and I are permitted to visit his cell.”

“Beel,” Asmo strained to whisper, “please.”

“I need to see them.” He jumped to his feet and Asmo sprang back just in time to avoid the razor edge of the insectoid wings that unfurled. “I have to go save them!”

“Lucifer’s already there,” Asmo put on his most persuasive voice. “Mammon’s gone ahead and Levi will put out the fire with his powers. And Satan’s enchantments will protect them.”

It wasn’t enough! “Can’t—just—stay—here—” was all he could manage before a lurid vision of a charred corpse danced before his eyes. His teeth locked and all he could allow himself to think about was to go where you were to try and save you because then he would be _doing_ something instead of letting everything slip through his fingers and facing a fire to save you would hurt less than dwelling on what Belphie did, all because _he couldn’t stop him again and again…_

Barbatos dusted off the edge of his sleeves, having avoided the brunt of the explosion that had resulted when Beelzebub tore the doors off their hinges in a mad rush to leave. “He may have some difficulty flying; the scent tends to especially saturate in wings.”

“You didn’t stop him,” Asmo muttered. “You’re… staying behind?”

“I must clean the mess.” Nodding to the heaps of broken glass and plaster that trailed to the Beel-shaped hole in the window across the room he had kicked into flight. “Do you intend to go after him?”

“That, too.” He glanced around the demolished hallway. “You see the future. Will he make it in time?”

“I can only choose the reality that Lord Diavolo permits.” He tilted his head, not enough to be called a bow. “From what I see… well, there will be much more tidying to do.”

“Fine,” Asmo folded his arms, his miffed expression darkening with the waning moon. “Keep your secrets. I hope the reality you chose doesn’t make it even worse for us…”

“That would hardly be within Lord Diavolo’s interests as well as his friendships. Forgive me if I overstep, but considering the current standing… is it truly wise to undermine my abilities at present? Or does your love run as deep as that, even for the one whose malice has brought this?”

Asmodeus cringed but managed a shrug. “At this point, I’m pretty sure everyone wants to kill him. But if we lose him, too…” he swallowed. “Damn this,” he muttered. Even among demons, Belphie was truly something else.

“What undeserving loyalty he inspires in you. Do all of your brothers feel the same, Jewel of Heaven? Would all of the brothers fall even lower for the sake of one’s folly?”

For a long moment he regarded Barbatos with an opaque gaze. “It wouldn’t be the first time. And just like then,” Asmodeus took care to enunciate every word, “We’ll fall with our own grace.” He smiled, brief and bitter.

“That is a rash claim from one who embodies the carnal pleasures of a comparably mild sin. But rest assured,” He made a dismissive gesture to accentuate, “that your brother will be given a trial befitting his rank. Beyond that, you’d do well to contain your concerns from… excess.”

“You’re an elite demon, Barbatos.” He took a step back as he gave a flippant curtsey. “Not half as beautiful as me, but powerful.”

What Asmodeus didn’t say was: it meant nothing. This wasn’t the first time where the world as he knew it had fallen to ashes as he was dragged into the dust. What was a demon’s threat to one who had withstood the smiting of Father? But Lust masked such depth, existing primarily as a surface current of impulse and passion. Such a reputation disguised his more deliberate actions as well as his control. It was what now guided him to turn to the broken window with a toss of his hair as he, too, burst into flight.

Barbatos watched him soar through the skies, ambivalent light glinting off the ends of his tailcoat. His Lord may forbid him from choosing every favourable outcome, but he still had the power to _see_ , if not act upon it—till now. It frustrated him, to not see the ideal reality that would best benefit his lord. To do that, he needed answers.

Answers that, since Solomon wouldn’t give without exacting a price he knew Barbatos wouldn’t pay, he had to get out of someone else who was within his reach.

* * *

You could’ve gone home. The one you didn’t burn down, of course. Where family ties were uncomplicated and you were just another person who didn’t know any better. What did you leave behind? A family who probably thought you were dead by now (which they were sorta right), a friend you had thought about planning a surprise birthday party for, a calculus classmate you thought about… maybe asking out? Try as you might, you couldn't remember her face.

“But was this person important to you?”

Peeved, you exhaled through your nose. “I guess not. Are you asking me to tell you an example of what I _might’ve_ forgotten?”

“I don’t think that’ll produce a solid answer,” Solomon folded his arms, scanning the pages of one book to the next before re-focusing on you. “But this is irregular, to say the least.”

This entire state of affairs was about as ‘regular’ as a monkey house. You fidgeted, letting your gaze wander. When Solomon had cautiously knocked on the door, opening at your grunt of assent, you were dry-eyed as you silently grieved for a loss that you couldn’t name. Ah, if only this had never happened! If only you could go back to the past and make all the right decisions to continue living without the faintest clue of demons and angels!

But you couldn’t. So what else could you do but grit your teeth and endure? If you couldn’t hope that it wouldn’t get better, what did you have left going for you?

“I guess everything I did should’ve cost me a couple of memories, but I really can’t remember what I forgot—pfft.” You had to snicker at the absurdity of the sentence you had to make. “You really out here making me say the stupidest shit.”

Solomon joined with a chuckle. “I ask your pardon. It wasn’t my intent to belittle your constitution; rather, I am thoroughly impressed by it. To suffer almost no memory blanks… yet from what you’ve stated, it doesn’t seem like hypermnesia, either. Perhaps some confabulation as a preventive measure against combustion?”

Him and his useless four-dollar words. You didn’t like how he looked at you while talking to himself as if you were some lab specimen. “You’re not getting any blood samples from me.”

“Noted. But it truly seems that you’ve a special sort of power that will serve to keep you safe.”

“You mean the pacts. Which weren’t really mine anyway.”

“Speaking of, you’re aware they’ll sense you eventually?”

“Not if I surprise them first.” You gasped, curling forward.

“What is it?”

“This is it.” You mumbled. “This has got to be it.” You jumped out of bed before losing your footing, pelvis bashing against the wall. “Dammit!”

“What’s the matter?!” Luke wrenched the door open in a panic, his mentor close behind him. “Simeon, help them!”

“Solomon, what did you do?”

“I did nothing.” His voice was unsure. “At least, to my knowledge…”

“Deep breaths, lamb. We are here. You are protected and safe here.”

“Need to go,” you managed.

“No. You don’t _have_ to go anywhere you don’t want to!” Luke grasped your hand. “They’ve done enough to you!”

“I-I mean…” You pushed away their hands, joints cracking as you scrambled to your feet. “I need to take a dump. _Now._ ” This had to be it. Luke could only put so many human-world laxatives into the brownies at a time, so… “I think this is the real one!”

Dashing into the nearest bathroom, you slammed the door so hard that your ears were still tingling as you plopped yourself down and pushed what felt like a trailer truck out of your intestines.

“Will they be okay?”

_Squork_

Dear God, why were they still outside the door. Might as well go all the way. Dignity? What was that? Nothing you were familiar with. Your mind swirled with nothing but the base impulse to exorcise this monstrous shit because boy, oh _boy,_ it felt like a motherf— **plop.**

“Are you all right?” He knocked.

Who was that? _Not Luke._ Good, so you wouldn’t hurt feelings. “Go away!”

You couldn’t make out the next words but you were pretty sure someone was laughing. Fantastic.

But you preferred this to facing the shit that lurked in your psyche. Looking at the behemoth in the bowl and a pleasant emptiness settling inside your stomach, you could only wonder: when did you eat corn? You flushed (twice) before ransacking the cupboards for whatever passed for Fabreeze down here. You knew what potpourri was; how to use it? Fuck it, you were pulling everything.

Your knees were no longer shaking by the time you were confident enough to open the door. Simeon was considerate enough to relocate everyone to the corner farthest from the bathroom.

“I’m better now.” And you meant it. The shower had been a much-needed luxury.

“Are you sure?” He shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you going to go see them?”

You sighed, looked away. “Will you try to stop me, Luke?”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” He stared at his hands, trying to decipher this incomprehensible puzzle. “Do you still like them?”

_You shouldn’t lie to an angel._

“Yes,” you breathed. You cleared your throat, continued with more volume, “They have a lot to answer for. That, and… I guess it’s really muddled now with the fire and death, isn’t it?” You tried for a laugh. “I should hate them, and I do.”

This time, you didn’t push away his hand. Instead, you opened your arms, and Luke came into them before you could hesitate. It was warm, the comfort of someone who unquestionably cared.

“I don’t want to see you upset.” Was he crying? For you? “I hate the demons for making you upset. You were good to them… and to me. To us.” He lifted his head, lip jutted out in resolve. “Take me with you.”

“Heh?”

Solomon had already exited the room and Simeon was tactfully looking out the window. Still, Luke leaned in to whisper, “I’ll be watching over you from now on. I’m going to make sure I protect you, just like you protected me. Because…” he flushed a deep scarlet, whispering even lower, “you’re a wonderful person.”

Oh. Now you wanted to cry.

“So… I’m going with you!” It wasn’t an offer, but he hesitated.

Your face faltered with sincerity, and you hoped it didn’t look too teary. “Then, thank you for coming with me.”

“And I as well,” Simeon neatly inserted himself back into the conversation. “It reflects poorly on an angel to let a lamb wander into the wolves’ den unguarded.”

A chuckle caught itself in your throat. Still with the lamb? “I’d make excellent mutton, though.”

Awfully lame by your standards, but Simeon smiled anyway. “No lamb… rather, no friend… should be left to face something like this alone. My arm is yours, should you have it.”

Your heart swelled. “Yeah.”

Strength galvanized with a certainty that made you question if it came from you or something else entirely. With the adversity you braced yourself to confront despite the weakness that had you by the throat, you would push on. You felt like the word _persevere._ You always mixed that word up with _preserves_ because fuck the English language.

Somehow, you were able to survive your losses. If not, you wouldn’t be here, finding new reasons to laugh, taking in hope to forge your armour of resilience that you would wear on your path to recovery, somehow, somehow. And if two angels weren’t reason enough to hope, what was?

“An exemplary decision,” Solomon re-entered. “Pardon me for intruding, but it seems Lucifer and the others have almost completely extinguished the fire.” To you, “Are you ready?”

“Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Simeon clasped a hand on your arm. “If you go out as you are, wouldn’t they confuse you for a ghost?”

“Hey, that means I’ll get to scare them for a change!” You gave him a finger gun.

“…are you comfortable with wearing just that?”

Your hand dropped to its side. “If you have an extra set of actual clothes, that’d be nice,” you muttered meekly. This gown _was_ a little too breezy below.

Solomon smirked. “Would you like to borrow mine?”

Only he was able to pull off his look; you didn’t need to try on his robes and shit to know you’d look like a literal garbage bag. “No.”

“Just as well. Still, as a fellow human, I hope to stand together and support each other.”

You wondered why he bothered to help. Him and his magic ointments, reserved solicitude, nothing that divulged overmuch. Except names because names had power. Ha-ha. “Thanks, Salmon.”

“Is that what you’ll call me from now on?”

“Has a nicer ring than your other names. Don’t worry, I’ll switch every so often. Actually, I wanna borrow…”

* * *

“No, Lotan! The fire’s over there!”

The creature bellowed, recoiling. Another deluge poured down as the layer of smoke rose higher and higher. Another chunk of the roof collapsed, falling with a thunderous crash. Another wave swept, crashing through the remaining windows and meeting the fires with a sizzling hiss.

If Lucifer turned, he’d see Satan walking across the boundary with deliberate slowness, his deceptively tranquil demeanour punctuated with spellwork hurled at structural points of the inferno with ferocity that reflected its master’s temper. For once, he eschewed the nicety of keeping a smile; when he turned time and again to survey the throng of bystanders around his burning home, it was a face that promised the worst and more without creasing a single feature.

There was a reason Lucifer entrusted crowd control to him. Not a single word of protest passed his lips as Wrath patrolled, staring past the crowds, trying not to think about the flames devouring his books. The one who _must_ have caused this, the impossibility of it.

A glance exchanged between him and Lucifer, fleeting before each dealt with the situation at hand, had been more than enough to communicate that and more. An aura of pure violence wrapped around him, warding off the spectators as effectively as any tear gas.

When a tongue of flame latched onto the gates, he swung his hand. The feathers shot off his boa with excessive curse and force, eviscerating the fire before it could gain traction.

To his left, Mammon cursed loudly. Only the second-born would be foolhardy to dive straight into the house and salvage whatever items came to hand by tossing them out the windows… and strong enough to withstand the flashover. His rescue efforts ended when his wings were singed and burns crisscrossed flesh like a second set of tattoos, which were all he had to show for his endeavour to save the treasure most dear to him.

No, not even Diavolo could step inside the basement. When he tried, an ash-covered Cerberus sprang on top of him, growling and whimpering as the burn-covered tail feebly attempted to wag. If even the beast suffered so before escaping… he re-doubled his efforts alongside Lucifer and slowly, the blaze retreated.

“Barbatos will come with supplies to treat your hound. We’re almost done, my friend.”

“Careful with your wings. Face them away, so they cannot fan the flames,” came the terse reply. Finally the spread was coming under his control; unlike so many other details in his life. “Keep Cerberus away, please.”

At last, the fire was dying out with growing certainty that it’d stay down. Embers crackled among soot and blistered paint that peeled off charred wood, fell scrap by scrap on the ground. The odd flame feebly flickered, but the conflagration was subdued. With more power than really necessary, Lucifer quenched the last of the fire before Lotan rained his downpour over the devastated House of Lamentation.

“Henry! Where are you, Henry?!” Clambering off of the wriggling serpent, Leviathan hacked into a coughing fit after blindly approaching the still-smouldering remains of his home.

“Stay back!” Lucifer snapped. “We don’t know if the house will hold up!”

“‘Sides…” Mammon wheezed, rolling onto his back to motion the handful of items he had managed to recover before his failed attempt to brave the basement. “It’s right… there.”

“Ahh!” He lunged, capturing the near-empty fishbowl in his hands. “Henry, no, don’t die, I can’t lose you, too…”

“And you,” Lucifer turned to Mammon, who lay on the ground spread-eagled, barely flinching when Lucifer clouded his vision, “what were you thinking charging into the house like that?”

He said nothing to defend himself, closing his eyes with a resigned breath. Grime and red streaked his inert body that housed far greater grief, one beyond tears. Lucifer, stone-faced, crouched and lifted Mammon so that his upper body inclined against a withered tree trunk.

“Least I saved some of the fancier crap,” he chugged the bottle passed to him, and only Lucifer’s unrelenting glare kept him from doing a spit take; it was disgusting.

“Drink,” he commanded.

Mammon nodded. Lucifer took a deep breath and let it out, and some of the worry and accompanying anger ebbed. “You're all cut up. It’ll help with the immediate pain.”

“Lucifer?”

He understood. “I will search for them. The spells Satan and I cast… they should hold.” They must. “Be ready when I call for you. Until then, rest.”

_“Lucifer!”_

Barrelling down came Beelzebub, the thrum of his wings vibrating through the greyed grass and hair. The air was thick with dust stirred up by the terror-stricken demon. “Lucifer, what’s…? Is everyone okay?!”

No one chided him for his late appearance; if anything, there was more than one brother who almost wished he _didn’t_ come. Not with Lord Diavolo present, whose appraisal was discomforting. Not far behind, Asmodeus followed, trying to untangle a lock of hair from his horns before his jaw fell open.

“Our home…!” With a bigger gasp, “Our _things!”_

“Be thankful it wasn’t our lives,” was all Lucifer could say to reassure before swerving to catch Beelzebub.

“I…” Beelzebub panted, shaking for breath. Sweat ran down his face like rain and a tear in his jacket ran from shoulder to elbow. He repeated your name as if he could say no other words. “Where are they?”

Reading more into their silent faces than any concrete answer would’ve offered, he tried to run towards the blackened ruin. And I emphasize _try_ —because he truly did before Lord Diavolo loomed over him with unquestionable authority.

“Easy there,” he said in a mild enough voice. “Satan is assessing the damage now, let him work. Right now it’s unsafe for anyone to enter until we know the structural weaknesses, both seen and unseen lest it collapse on you. While he evaluates, lad, I’d appreciate it if you’ve any information to offer on this catastrophe.”

Beelzebub glanced at Lucifer’s face, and his tongue threatened to fail him. He now had an attentive audience, but no words could come. A few moments restored some of his strength, along with Asmodeus’ hand that brushed against the edge of his wings. It was a motion of comfort as much as it was a reminder to fold them in.

“Hey!” Mammon staggered to his feet, coughing smoke out of his lungs. “Whaddaya mean… Beel wouldn’t have done this! He was knocked out with us!”

“That’s not for you to decide, Mammon.” Diavolo heard the whoosh of grass that announced Barbatos’ arrival, but gave him a cursory signal to tend to Cerberus; his eyes never left Beelzebub’s. “Lucifer has already sheltered Belphegor, once. The bond between your brothers is admirable, but it harms more than it helps in this case. Now, I urge you: speak. Did you have any part in this alongside Belphegor?”

“I don’t know—I don’t know!” Beelzebub half-yelled, wild with panic. “Belphie didn’t… he wouldn’t have wanted to hurt them!”

Leviathan turned away. Asmodeus swallowed back his tears unsuccessfully. Even Mammon wouldn’t come to Belphie’s aid the way he did for Beel. Instead, he asked, “You sure ‘bout that?”

“What do you mean?” Beelzebub replied with a dangerous edge.

“It is exactly as he means,” Diavolo waved towards the distraught. “He has admitted to obstructing the meeting to return their body to the human world for a respectful burial. The paralyzing scent was of his design. He is as cunning and manipulative as a demon gets. Whether it was a misguided attempt to atone or a final act of spite, he has played his hand in this.” His jaw tensed. “The question is, who else?”

“Beel.” Lucifer’s voice held as much as life as the ash that swirled around him. “Tell Lord Diavolo what you know. There’s no use hiding.”

Rage deflated, overwhelmed by the cutting harsh truth. “I don’t know why he did this.” The words creaked out in a husky whisper. “I never know anything…”

Lucifer looked at him, long and hard. “Is there nothing that might’ve tipped him off?” He thought of the youngest with venom. There were times when he thought there was no one among his brothers he could truly trust. Even Beelzebub was a suspect. “Even the slightest clue?”

Beel could only shake his head.

“Lucifer, that’s enough. He is telling the truth,” Diavolo interceded. The confirmation was water to the parched cracks of Lucifer’s soul—no other brother was involved. As small as the detail was, it was a consolation. He then did something thoroughly out of character; reaching out, only for a moment, he let his arm encircle Beel’s shoulders.

“Diavolo. I don’t want the people to see…” His voice trailed off as he watched his friend move towards the edge of the property, addressing the crowd as sovereign prince, intercepting them from keeping too close a scrutiny to the House of Lamentation and its inhabitants.

Mammon’s sight roamed over the onlookers with careless interest. What did these demons know? A cluster of demon gremlins was herded away, followed by a disappointed swarm of succubi. The relief at seeing their mightiest lords unharmed had faded rapidly in the speculation of what had transpired. He looked at them, these demons who had gathered to the carcass of his home. The burns had spread to the membrane of his wings, kept him from getting up and mouthing off at these intruders. So he watched.

Then he sat up, dulled eyes blinking up at the figure near the far edge of the horde. An apparition, cloaked in flowing white and staring past him to the illustration of destruction. He stared at the pinched face swathed in what almost looked like light, and recognition flickered; uncertainly at first, but rose with dawning bafflement.

He was on his feet before agony lanced through his entire body, but he didn’t care. He had to get closer to make sure it wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t some pain-induced deception. He made it three steps before his knees folded.

“What’re you, nuts?” A hand snaked around Mammon’s arm, dragging him back.

“Levi… d’you see that? That—that person, way over there.” He pointed. “Shit, the one behind that demon, wearing white.”

Alas, at that very moment, with Diavolo’s absolute command, the masses were dismissed. Dispersing back to their homes and classes, the demons jammed into each other as they attempted to make their way through the moving bodies, incurring several collisions and much cursing. Diavolo had already turned his back to them to talk to Barbatos; by the time Mammon could get Leviathan to look, both saw only nameless demons hurrying on their way.

“The smoke got to your head,” He shook his head, fine powdery ash snowing from his blue hair. “Get away from the gates before Lucifer gets both our heads, you idiot.”

He brushed him off, squinted to get a better look. But the hallucination was over and all Mammon saw was the silken cape of someone who… well, one he recognized but wasn’t as exciting to see than if it had been someone else, no matter how inexplicable. Disappointment and the threat of heartbreak mingled; he wouldn’t upset his brothers further with what—who he saw. Looking at Leviathan hunched over, mumbling half-apologies to an irate Lucifer on _why they couldn’t just stay still_ , what good would it do?

“You really are a dumbass.”

“Shut up, Levi.”

“You really busted into the burning house to save my Henry?”

Of course… not. Henry, a couple of books, a makeup kit, and a bunch of boxes that looked sturdy enough to survive the fall. But not you. If everyone could forgive him for bringing your death, they wouldn’t for failing to save what was left of you. Least of all, himself.

“I wish I could’ve saved them. My, the real Henry,” Levi mumbled. “But… thanks. For saving, um, I mean, Henry. My fish! I’m talking about the fish!”

“Does that…” he stiffened, waited for the coughing spasm to pass, “So all debts cleared?”

Of course Mammon would ruin a perfectly sentimental moment like that. “No.”

What! “Not even half?”

Leviathan looked at Henry, cleared his throat. “Twenty percent.”

“You cutthroat.”

“Keep talking and I’m cutting it down to ten.” He grinned a little, too. It was laughable that they were quibbling over money when both had lost everything! “Don’t think I’ll forget, stupid Mammon.”

“Levi. Something’s wrong.” Both brothers turned to Satan, who came back to them with an immobile expression. Behind him, not sure whether to follow, a shell-shocked Beelzebub faltered. Asmodeus physically recoiled, putting his hands up like a reluctant child as he backed away. He didn’t want to know what Satan would say, sensing that his words would tear their already-fragile family irrevocably.

“I’m sorry.” Satan’s voice was thick with strain, clothes and face smeared with ash and sweat.

“The body’s gone.”

Mammon shook his head. “No,” he said. “No.”

Cerberus whined, rubbed against Lucifer’s overcoat with three pairs of eyes that reflected a strangely deep sorrow. It tore at Lucifer, but he had to hold himself together, to be ready to comfort his brothers. But Diavolo forgive him, what could he say? They had loved you so much.

“Are you sure?” Asmodeus pleaded.

“Are you doubting my abilities?” Satan snapped. “They’re gone! How many times do I have to say it? The protective charms and spells were disabled before this fire even started!”

“Is that true, Satan?” Diavolo cut in sharply.

Satan swallowed, looked from his brothers to the prince. “Yes.” He stiffened. “The ashes around the casket contained no traces of magic… or human essence.” He felt frozen, unable to weep at his failure. “But the fire is of both Devildom and Celestial elements. There’s no mistaking it. Celestial oil, I think.”

Uneasy suspicion swelled in the angelic shape of one Lucifer once called brother. Nothing remained but a dying wind and the mass of demons who now turned to him, awaiting his next command to contest or obey. This was his doing. He had brought them to see themselves cast out of their home (twice) by his failure. His doing. He felt a light touch on his arm. Mammon had limped to stand beside him, supported by Leviathan.

Both of them were afraid. Their fear and grief was marked in the bowed shoulders, the faded colour of their complexions. But their eyes looked back at his as steadily as they had before their Fall; filled with trust, a loyalty that Lucifer had never failed to live up to.

When Lucifer finally spoke, his voice was his own, holding no hint of panic. “First, we salvage what we can. Beel, have Satan navigate the passages that are safe to tread, get hold of the safes in each room. But if the structure is the slightest bit unstable, do **not** attempt to get them. Levi, you will accompany them to put out any residual fire.” He could never be too sure, not after this.

“Lucifer?” He approached after the trio had left.

“Diavolo, I sincerely apologize for involving you into my family problems—”

“None of that!” He scowled. “Just tell me what I need to do to help.”

“Then, please organize Belphegor’s hearing as soon as possible. I will join you shortly.”

* * *

“Did they see us?” Luke gasped between breaths.

“Very likely.”

“Oh _no!”_ he wailed.

The implications didn’t seem to bother Solomon as he led the three of you to a street that wrapped snugly around the corner. Less foot traffic, for one, and the demons instinctively avoided the presence of both angels. Too shiny, Mammon told you once.

“Are you scared?” Simeon asked you.

You nodded with a grin. “Of course I am.”

“You’re quite chipper about it.”

You flashed a grimace at Solomon. Your hand twitched with the desire to whack him with the magic staff he had lent you, but you satisfied yourself with a scoff. “Not much of a choice.”

“On the contrary, this was entirely your choice.”

Somewhat true, since Diavolo’s Castle was where you’d find the surest way to get home. If the prince spirited you here he could definitely send you back to where you belonged. You gripped the staff, having thought over this countless times. If Diavolo refused to send you home, you had five demons to fight for you, however unwillingly. You just didn’t know what he’d do, how he’d react. Too many variables beyond your control and it was aggravating, to say the least.

But something had to give and you’d never know until you tried. Also, you wanted to see Belphegor.

Naturally, you kept this little thing from the others. Your priority was home, you thought. Yes, home… and everything would be behind you, which was the best option you had left at this point. What else did you have going for in this place?

You bit your lip. You had seen Mammon, all right. The hollowed, feverish eyes, his sunken cheekbones, and you wondered if he hated you for making him kill you. He _was_ the sort to bounce back quickly, so… why feel guilty? You didn’t know why, only that you did.

“Ouch!” You drove the staff into the ground for support, which barely broke your fall. “Fabulous.”

“Steady now,” came Simeon’s too-late advice. “If you rolled up your pant legs you wouldn’t fall over them as much. Here, let me.”

“I’ll do it!” Luke volunteered.

“Not here!” You squeaked. “Not where people can see us, maybe?”

“A sensible idea.” Solomon directed towards a seedy alleyway where trash was littered around an overflowing dumpster. “I’ll keep watch. Simeon, would you like to join me?”

Simeon, who had no reason to refuse, acquiesced. Angel and human loitered under the flickering light of a streetlamp, chattering inconsequentially as the other angel and human struggled against fabric amidst trash bags.

“I don’t like wearing white,” you muttered.

“Why?”

You rolled back your sleeves. “It gets dirty too easily.” He was good at folding back the hems. “Thanks, Luke.”

“This is nothing.” He glanced sideways, made a face. “Ugh, this place stinks.”

“You said it. Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait.” Luke’s hand latched onto you. “Something’s wrong. I’m not… I’m not hearing them.”

Abruptly sober, you made the shushing gesture, let him lead you behind a foul-smelling bag, tucked safely out of view. You heard it then, raised voices that came with startling clarity.

“Solomon~ how unexpected to see you here in such a sleazy corner. Surely your tastes haven’t dropped so low?”

You shivered. That was Asmodeus’ voice, but it held no trace of warmth, however charming it was. He must be really mad, you thought. _Really_ mad. He wouldn’t hurt Solomon; couldn’t. He was bound by a pact, wasn’t he?

“Good evening to you, too, Asmodeus.” Solomon returned the greeting as though welcoming him to a tea party. “And I see you’ve brought Mammon along as well, too. What business have you with me, or perhaps Simeon?”

“Both of you’re comin’ to Diavolo’s Castle with us.”

Your mouth ran dry. The noxious tang of dirt and garbage didn’t help as you took in Mammon’s voice, and, oh God, you could hear the anguish underlying the brutal edge of his voice, crisp with anger.

“Is that so?” Simeon asked quietly, and you held your breath, dreading to hear the sounds of scuffling and resistance. That there wasn’t didn’t help your nerves one whit. “Have you come to arrest us, Mammon?”

A pause. “Satan identified Celestial components that helped instigate the fire. Lucifer confirmed that you sent some very flammable oils… and I heard you also had a little ‘chat’ with Barbatos, Simeon.”

“Fair enough, Asmodeus. But those oils were properly sealed, and Lucifer personally saw it before placing them where they were intended. What happened was a terrible accident, one none of us intended.”

“Still, I take it Lord Diavolo summoned us to assist with this problem? It is in the collective interest for all of us to get to the bottom of this, and I see no problem with the two of us going ahead. What do you say, Simeon?”

“If you’ve no problem with it, Solomon, neither do I. Does Luke need to come as well? He’s currently resting, though he’d be eager to join as soon as we meet with Diavolo first.”

You could feel Luke tremble against your arm. For an appalling moment, you thought he’d burst out and yell at the demons; he was strung as a bowstring. Luke, don’t! you willed, sighed soundlessly when he kept still.

“The pup can come if he wants. But, really, do you want to involve that poor thing in something as messy as this? Or have you forgotten… that blood **lust** is also under my domain?”

“Is that a threat?” Very softly.

“It’ll be one if you two don’t get movin’,” Mammon replied, a growl rumbling in his throat. “Lucifer’s orders. We don’t owe you no expl’nation, that’s Lord Diavolo’s job. We already have another suspect for the fire, but you’re still a person of interest. Both of you.”

“Mammon, we weren’t supposed to tell them that!”

“Shit.” Muffled cursing. “Whatever, it’s out now.”

“We will go with you,” Solomon replied. “You can rest easy, Asmodeus. There’ll be no more bloodshed today.”

Simeon’s cloak rustled. “We will go ahead, but allow me to inform Luke of my whereabouts so he doesn’t worry about catching up later on. Please, lead the way.”

You heard the flap of wings and thought, oh **fuck.** If they flew and looked down… you were a goner. Sadly, your impulsive thinking hadn’t improved much since your deaths; clambering over the edge with your staff in hand, you dove into the dumpster headfirst. Digging into the mounds of filth, you didn’t stop until you buried yourself entirely in old newspapers and ratty clothes.

Luke called your name in a whisper from outside the dumpster. It took a few moments, but you poked your head out. “Are they gone?”

“They didn’t even look twice towards our direction…” he trailed off. You felt embarrassment creep up your face as you swung your legs, launching yourself outside.

Wasn’t this fucktangular!

“Luke.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going after them, right?”

Light flitted across his face in a visible smile. “Yes!”

“I’m really glad that you didn’t burst out to scare them.” You reached to pat his head… then you recoiled back, realizing you probably smelled worse than a dead skunk. “I thought for sure you’d give them a piece of your mind.”

“I really wanted to!” His mouth contorted in bitterness. “But I could tell Simeon wanted me to wait… and then I remembered that if they see you first, then they’d take you away from us.”

“No one’s taking me away from anything. No, Luke, listen. I… I’ll never hurt you like I did back in that Council room. And I will never leave, at least, not until my time.”

The relief on his face broke something in you. Maybe it was your heart.

“O-of course. And I’ll be watching over you!” His elation faded as another worry took root. “What about Simeon and Solomon?”

“We’re going to save them.” As if they needed to be saved.

“How?”

You grinned, not unlike the one Solomon wore before he doubled up in poker. Urgency incited you to mental overdrive, discarding plans as fast as you came up with them. Luke would come with you; he’d have it no other way. And the staff… you needed some form of self-defence and a pole was better than any kitchen tool. How to bring both and storm the castle?

Luke’s D.D.D. buzzed.

**< Simeon**

_school_

_cokncil eoom_

_veeryone is therfe_

* * *

School, being school, was easier to slip in than the guarded castle of demonic royalty. Blending in, however, was another matter, considering you looked and smelled like you had been dug up out of the ground.

“Hey, isn’t that the other human?”

You brushed past them, Luke following closely at hand. You got lost—several times—and it was only with Luke’s help that the two of you finally found the Council Room. Or rather, the doors that were now guarded by two intimidating demons that the rest of the student body instinctively avoided.

“That’s the room…” Luke shuddered, warding off an unpleasant memory. “How do we get in?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “I’ll think of a plan.” You had to come up with one fast, though.

“Wait.” He tugged the waist of your pants. “Wait…”

“What?”

“You’re not going to go in there and… and die, are you?”

Your breath stilted. Tearing your gaze away from the doors, you bent to face him so that you met him at eye level. “I said I wouldn’t, remember?” Fighting off impatience, you tried to make him smile, twirling (and almost dropping) the staff. “I’m sorry for that, I really am.”

“I know, but I remember. I went in because I wanted to give you cake before you met those demons and then they… they…you were gone.” He was losing himself reciting the horror, reliving it as he retold. You dug your nails into his shoulder until he winced, drew your hand back in regret.

“Look at me, Luke.”

He obeyed.

“I swear that it’s not going to happen like that ever again. Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

It was a good lie, one grounded in truth. The best kind of lie, you thought. “Because you’ll be with me.”

He finally managed a lopsided smile. Looking at the staff you held, he reached out as if to touch it. “Can you use the staff?”

You shrugged, stood up. “I’m sure I can bludgeon a demon if I tried hard enough.”

He giggled at that. “But I think you can do spells with this, too!”

Ah, spells. The only successful one you’ve pulled off wasn’t even from your powers. “Do you think I can?” You asked doubtfully.

“Of course you can!” Anticipation energized his voice. “And,” here he cast a furtive glance at the guards, “to go in, we need to get them out of the way.”

 _Now_ the conversation was getting somewhere. By the time you and Luke were as ready as the both of you would ever be, the halls were deserted, only the odd straggler scrambling to attend the last half of their classes.

Alrighty then.

“State your business with Lord Diavolo,” the left guard examined the visitors and wrinkled his nose. The taller one smelled foul.

You felt Luke’s fingers tighten around yours. “I have come to talk to Lord Diavolo concerning my stay at the exchange program,” you began.

Luke swallowed, watching the guard raise his gaze, looking to his comrade on the right. “Lord Diavolo is currently in a conference. He will receive no guests until his current session is adjourned or resolved. What is your name?”

You gave it. “I’m the human from the exchange program. Y’know, the one everyone’s trying to eat?”

“You’re… oh!” The right guard’s voice sharpened with recognition. “I remember the name! The other exchange student, is it?” You heard the clacking of teeth… fangs? “You’ve been on a very long vacation.”

“Yes, vacation. Absolutely. Now, can we go in?”

“…the vacation, wasn’t it supposed to be two weeks?”

Shit. Your eyelids twitched. “Yeah, about that… I live in a different timezone.”

“A different _what?”_

“Timezone. There’s also daylight saving time. It’s a human thing, we measure time differently.”

“That’s… er… hey,” the demon whispered to its fellow guard, “have you heard of this nonsense before? Saving time?”

“Master Barbatos might? I don’t know, man.”

You cleared your throat. Not yet, Luke, don’t talk yet. “Regardless, I’m still a member of the Council. I’m afraid I can really only answer to Lord Diavolo, and he has, er, instructed that I report to him directly upon my return. So, when can I meet him?”

Luke suppressed a smirk when the two demons stiffened to attention at the words ‘council’ and ‘report’. “They have spoken,” he added.

“Fine, but what does an angel have to do with council business?”

Luke glared. Teeth gnawed his lower lip, revealing discomfort he otherwise hid. “The other angel is there. You think I don’t know that?”

“What of it?” The first guard shot back. “Doesn’t change a thing, pup. This meeting ain’t pretty.” He dropped his voice. “And you’d get the hell outta here if you knew what’s good for you.”

Good thing you didn’t know any better. “Is there no way for us to go in?”

The guard spat. “You’re going to have to wait in line just like everyone else, _human.”_

“How about,” Ah, you had almost missed the near-universal derision of this place, “no.” You whipped out Solomon’s staff—it was over half your height—and held it like a battering ram.

“Lord Diavolo said we could deal with complainers as we wanted,” the guard sneered. “Been a while since I’ve enjoyed human flesh.”

Luke turned to you, terrified. Could you blame him? Simeon and Solomon were seasoned in the unexpected; in contrast, Luke had only very recently been thrust into the intrigue of subtle insurrection and was thoroughly shaken by the turn of events. But this, however risky, was more to your liking—the element of surprise promised slightly more even terms, however temporary—and the appeal of a rescue mission of the ones who had done so much for you? You’d take it.

Aiming your staff, you called upon your memory once more: “Sons sired of Shadows, hear me and shroud my soul!”

The demons scratched their heads before roaring in laughter. “Lookit this, Verrine. Human thinks it can do magic. Well, go on then, perform a trick before we boil you alive.”

You were humiliated. Great. What a scornful slap to the face.

“Try to rhyme!” Luke hollered as one demon closed in on him. “It’s the basic formula for spellwork but—mmmphh!”

“Need to find a muzzle for you, eh dog?” The demons guffawed as Luke squirmed. “Go on, human. Try a spell. Better yet, do one to turn this brat into an actual dog. That’d be an improvement!”

Fuck these assholes. Now you were mad as you could get. Rhyme? Rhyme what? You were trash at poetry, had difficulty reading, let alone writing, ambiguous rubbish that could mean anything. Well, there was one thing you _could_ rhyme, but… no, never mind that! Seeing Luke in the claws of these filth inflamed your anger like nothing else. Praying to anyone, anything out there stupid enough to listen to you, you cussed out the words that popped into your brain:

_Spirits, whatever, come listen to me!_

_Fuck over these demons and set Luke free!_

_And since these doors are a real… sucker_

_Blow them all up like a mother—_

You half-expected nothing to happen like before and were prepared to just use the staff like a baseball bat and sock them in the eye. After all, you fumbled the third line, so how were you supposed to expect everything around you to explode into action? That was your solution: to not expect anything at all. The sparks spouting from the tip of the staff turned into a roar, hurling a combustive chain that blinded your vision.

The doors never stood a chance.

The staff rattled in your grip, but you refused to let go. You groped for guidance, closing around the curve of Luke’s ear. You tried to speak, but the words closed themselves up, refusing to be uttered. Then he was holding your hand, and you blindly followed with unconditional trust.

You didn’t need to look down to see the utter mess your clothes were in now; you mentally apologized to Simeon, would compensate for that later… the staff dragged behind you as smoke clung to your figure.

Luke, where are we? You stumbled before you could ask. Brushing the specks from your eyes, you blinked. Ah, yes, the banners. You could make out the lining of a unicorn; beside it, a scorpion. Sputtering, you swung your—Solomon’s staff, shock mingling with triumph.

Coughing out the dust, you saw your own shocked expression from multiple viewpoints, all displayed on these faces you remembered well. Too well, perhaps. But it was almost exactly as you had envisioned, dumbstruck faces blanched of colour, eyes goggling as their beholders sat or stood stunned, rooted to where they were.

This was where you had to say something. You prepared for this. Just as you inhaled air to speak, another cough seized you, usurping the first syllable so all that came out was:

Cough. “—rise, bitches.” Another cough.

You lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more chapters left  
> Thank you guys for your comments :') Y'all truly blessing me with this feedback  
> Thank you Forever for the beta! Man, you really did me a solid with this update :')


	18. Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear God,
> 
> I wish I committed more sins if I knew I was going to Hell anyway.  
> I wasn‘t all that ‘sinful’ to begin with and if I was, you should’ve gone for Karen from algebra first. _She’s_ a real bitch, but I don’t know your laws and I won’t get into an argument I’ll lose.  
> The best thing you did was to pick Simeon and Luke to suffer with me. Though I heard it was Michael’s choice so gee  
> Takes one to break a family and another to patch it, break it again, patch it again. Since you and the brothers aren’t on the best of terms, I guess anything I say here won’t be passed onto them. Good.  
> I like them. The crazy one, I’m not sure. But he helped. I hate owing them favours after the stints they did, and they’re like family. Hehe. Don’t mind me, inside joke. It’s dysfunctional at best and I’m an idiot for sticking around.  
> Dunno what Diavolo said to convince you of this exchange program, but he could’ve done it better. The avatars, too. And I _know_ it’d have been easier if they picked someone a lot nicer. Instead they got me.  
> If you care at all, give me the strength to fix what I can. I’m starting to think what I did so far wasn’t what I wanted.
> 
> Amen,  
> A Salty Lamb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the ridiculous length of the chapter makes up for the slowness of the update.  
> Hm maybe it’d turn off readers to see the scroll bar become a dot?  
> I swear it's not because I forgot about this story it’s because I’m trying to cram everything in  
> Also the length is because I don’t want to change the number of chapters, I’ve already changed it too much.  
> Thank you ForeverAlone5 for editing and helping me toss ideas :')

When hearing the word _torture_ , humans conjured the worst atrocities associated with undocumented war crimes and unethical trials that descended beyond the boundaries of imaginable suffering. Violence on the body, the less tangible but equally brutal manipulation of the psyche; torture scarred regardless of the means, left irreparable holes in places that should remain whole.

To be clear, there was no such barbarism happening in the dungeons of Diavolo’s Castle—at least, not by Devildom standards. Superior in durability and vitality, there were very few techniques that could permanently off a demon. No, there was no torture. It was an unseemly term, unbefitting of one known for his gracious resplendence and wisdom in serving his people. None of the royal household would sully their lord’s name in such a manner.

Those who stood guard in the underground dungeons would profess this doctrine fervently as the weakest Prince of Hell was put under questioning by the Chief Steward. After all, was it not their prince who was in the wrong? And was Barbatos not their liege lord’s most trusted follower?

No, the royal butler was only investigating a criminal. It was only just. The voice that pierced the walls indicated only uncooperative malice, vindicating the prisoner’s atrocities. Not screams of agony that ought to be feared, sending shivers down the dourest sentry. They were just soldiers, carrying out their duties.

Belphegor was absent from his cell for hours. They knew because when he came back, they heard a faint groaning, off and on. What did Master Barbatos ask him? What did he do?

Not knowing made it worse. It always did, here in these parts.

But those keeping guard were low enough in rank to be overlooked, and smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

And when the order came to escort Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth and Seventh Prince of Hell before the greater princes and greatest lord to pass judgement—a tribunal of sorts in human terms—such was the state he was in that the demon-at-arms had to pull him roughly to his feet, yanking him upright, shoved up the staircase.

“That’s quite enough,” Barbatos reprimanded. “He is a prince, after all. The likes of you shall treat him with the dignity his rank deserves while he retains this title.”

It was Belphegor’s second condemnation. So he ought to remember well, what it was like to be stripped of everything he once was, the denunciation that would come. But to remember pain once it was over… why? Pain marked him as it had all of his brethren, too deep to see. Living in the moment, all that remained was a shadow.

“Leave us. I will take care of the prisoner hereon.” His smile to the guards seemed almost kindly, but they nodded once to Barbatos, dropping Belphegor like a sack of flour before scurrying back to their original posts.

“Still nothing to say, Avatar of Sloth?”

Say what? Belphegor knew time was lost on him. He could remember screaming; he felt like he had screamed, at least, even if it never translated into a peep of sound. What have they done to you? What had he done?

“…”

The gaze was vacant as if he was so tired of life that even now, he was trying to slip away from the world of the wakeful. Belphegor didn’t know how long he had been under, languishing in this flickering silence with a vindictive Barbatos who could manipulate time, reality, and the perception of both.

“Ah. Would you prefer to be tried _in absentia?_ Though I can say with certainty that the verdict won’t change. If you cannot bear to face your brothers, it is understandable.”

Belphegor said nothing as he shook his head. Because even with the suspension of the connection between him and Beel, he had enough imagination to grasp how it would be for his brothers to live knowing that he never tried, to let Lucifer continue believing that he had abandoned them, just as he had let them continue believing that Lilith died in misery. Even if he couldn’t disprove or deny anything… rather, because of it.

“So be it.”

Belphegor couldn’t flinch when he felt the cold tendrils of magic dragging him to certain doom. Oh, Father. His thoughts were precariously strung from one to the next. Was this what you had in mind when you struck us from paradise?

Whatever sentence would be carried out upon him, he was certain of one thing: wherever he’d end up, even if it was death, neither you nor Lilith would be waiting. With that, he thought no more, for he had always left reasoning and thinking to his brothers, and was thus not his strong point.

“There is nothing to say to them that you haven’t said to me, after all.” Barbatos waved his hand, revealing a hidden passage that was connected directly to the academy’s Council Hall. “Right this way.”

His outward appearance was otherwise unchanged: there were no bloody lacerations or tears in his clothing. Physically, he was unbroken. Barbatos was too clever to leave such obvious indications of his interrogative measures—that is, if the situation was as such. Which wasn’t, of course.

As it was, both demons established an implicit accord that anything that had transpired beneath the castle was to remain unspoken. Lord Diavolo might look askance at his steward and comment on Belphegor’s hunched stature and perhaps Lucifer could grimace at the layer of withdrawal in the youngest’s empty eyes. But just like everything else, it would be acknowledged quietly and swept over—like so many other things down here in the Devildom.

Why bother with the motions of a trial, one might wonder. The confrontation with his brothers had been inevitable, and better to face their wrath and get it over with. And what then?

In the hall-turned-courtroom, Barbatos led Belphegor to the desk and chair where he would make his stand before taking his place beside his lord. Though Belphegor didn’t keep track of time, the chamber was soon filled with a waiting assemblage of those who were forced to present themselves and deal directly with this matter.

“Thank you, Diavolo,” Lucifer said as the prince clapped him on the back.

“Think nothing of it. Take all the time you need to ready yourself.”

Despite Diavolo agreeing to make this trial a private affair just between him and his brothers, despite Diavolo commissioning the best carpenters and contractors to rebuild the House of Lamentation, Lucifer felt undeserving of it all. He was so full of disgust at himself, that he found himself unable to look Diavolo in the eye.

Leviathan, Beelzebub, and Satan weren’t holding up better than him. Their faces held conflicting tales of uncertain grudges, unforgotten grievances, the discomfort and pain of being entrapped in yet another family feud. Each took their place in the daïs, looking away from the vacant seventh seat where their youngest _should’ve_ been.

When they dared to steal glances at where Belphegor was seated, he was stooped forward, his face hidden in his arms. Almost like this was another class he’d nap through, except for the white knuckles Lucifer pretended not to see.

Diavolo had wanted to defer a few days to prepare. Lucifer had flatly refused, ostensibly to nip it in the bud before more chaos erupted. Maybe Diavolo knew but had the sense not to ask: Lucifer was afraid that he would dissect and rationalize, find some impossible justification to shelter his brother. Treachery didn’t erase love, only broke hearts.

The crown prince spoke first, as he must. “Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth. Do you know why you are here?”

Belphegor forced himself to meet Beelzebub’s eyes first, then turned his head to Diavolo, unable to reconcile the deep-voiced formality and the bumbling demon whose preaching he so despised. “I know.”

He was not bound. Once Belphegor had been seated, his movements were his own again, and he remained as if he were a free man. He could stand up and attack them if he wanted to. But he was willing to bet his horns Barbatos was counting on that.

Worried hatred would drive him to say something he regretted, he cast his stare back to the only one who might truly understand: His brother, his other half. Belphegor hoped his eyes sent a clear message of the truth as Barbatos proceeded with the list of charges.

“… and with his known aversion to humans that has been proven to be a deciding factor in his first attempted assault against… the Avatar of Wrath has confirmed that the body is not in the remains of Lamentation. The measures put on it that might give a trace have been disabled, which would require substantial magical talent…”

It was intimidating to sit here, with the judgement of those literally above him deciding his punishment, more than he cared to admit. For the first time, he felt an inkling of admiration for you; you had dealt with it better, in some ways.

Lucifer wrote each charge carefully, looking to Diavolo when Barbatos finished speaking. He wouldn’t talk unless he absolutely had to.

“Now, Belphegor, what have you to say for yourself?” Gold eyes sought logic in the unthinkable. “Your brothers await your answer.”

Yeah, them and everyone else in the Devildom. He glanced at Lucifer, then back at Diavolo with the tiniest curl of disdain at the corner of his lip. What would he say differently were this a private meeting?

“I made a mistake.” He referred to his decision to trust Solomon, though he knew the Council would draw other conclusions. “And…” He stared squarely at Diavolo. “I have… nothing to say in my defence.”

Customarily, the accused would elaborate in such a way that pleaded leniency, but there was no such thing.

Beel’s brows shot up, his eyes widening until white nearly eclipsed the purple-stained irises. Their eyes briefly met in a fleeting message, and then orange tangles of hair slid to the left as Beelzebub considered.

“Then, you confess your guilt to every single charge laid against you?” Diavolo reiterated.

Belphegor scowled. Was it formality or another way to kick him while he was down? “You want me to keep repeating myself?”

“I am only making sure. What has happened was no light matter, and I wish for justice to be served appropriately. For your sake as well, Belphegor.”

He cringed as Barbatos brought the mostly intact thurible before Lucifer and his brothers. “The effects have been neutralized, but I would like to confirm again the components of this mixture.”

“What’s it to you?” He hissed, breaking the thrum of the trial. He hated Diavolo for making this a spectacle; private as it was, a humiliation was a humiliation. He hated Lucifer for abandoning him, for refusing to look anywhere but the paper he fanatically wrote on, and he hated his brothers for not understanding what couldn’t possibly be understood. Above all, he hated himself for being the instrument of everything leading up to this moment. You were dead. Solomon failed. Why not simply tell them this?

“It’s a key matter, not just to me, but to all of us.” Diavolo rose. “If there are other key points or others of interest, surely we can investigate them and reach a more informed decision.”

It disgusted him, the way he said it. _Informed decision._ As if that would make things better. But would it, though? Just more fingers to point at, even if one of them would be pointing at Solomon. Simeon hadn’t been all that helpful, either. To think that you had trusted them more than his brothers!

“This is indeed the essence of Sloth. I also sense some extracts from the Botanical Gardens…” Lucifer passed it on.

Taking the censer, Leviathan took a whiff, winced. “Siren Hair. No wonder I was out like a light. Everything else is killing my nose, but…” His eyes widened and his posture went rigid, alert as a snake in the grass. “Drake Herb and… prana.” His head retracted as if tensed to spring. “Human Prana.”

Of course Leviathan had the best sense of smell. “A useless ability,” he had bemoaned before, “I’d rather have the ability to have another set of eyes to finish more anime series.”

It didn’t look useless now as his nostrils flared and pupils slitted to the thinnest lines. “… is this why I dreamt…” He turned his face away, shoved the censer to his right. “Double-check for me. Maybe I’m wrong. It _has_ to be wrong.”

Everyone stared at Satan as he gingerly opened the lid, took a cautious sniff. “I don’t think so.” He then gently set it down as if it were a bomb, and drew a long, slow breath. “Did you eat their soul, Belphegor?”

“No!” This time he visibly flinched, quailed in his seat. This was one crime he couldn’t be saddled with. “I didn’t!”

“Then how did you get traces of their soul?” With a raised voice: “Why didn’t you tell any of us?!”

“Peace, Satan. We are still in the middle of trial.”

Diavolo scrutinized the defendant. “It seems you are speaking the truth,” he said slowly as if absorbing an utter novelty. “But that only raises more questions. Where did you find these traces, and how…?”

Satan brought the incense towards him again, focusing on recomposing himself then tracing the actual contents. It was a hideous joke to have your imprint mixed in with Belphegor’s betrayal. Only Lucifer’s glare, Barbatos’ curiosity, and that there was more to come, kept the fourth-born from giving in to his rage and breaking everything around him.

Beel, whose alchemy and potion skills had always been poor, could add nothing more. To him, his brother’s blood and despair was the strongest smell of them all, and his heart ached.

“They left traces everywhere in the realm. Collecting them wasn’t hard.”

Fair enough. “But why…?”

Belphegor chewed his lip. Thankfully, the door opened, and he looked up just in time to see his two other brothers escorting the “others of interest” as the door shut behind them.

“Ah, Simeon. And Solomon. Thank you for joining us.” Diavolo waved for them to sit. Their chairs were considerably nicer than the one Belphegor sat on. “Though I wish it were for better reasons. I trust that Mammon and Asmodeus brought you here… with due manners?”

Belphegor wanted to roll his eyes. Of course they had to be handled with more care, whereas him? Nah, he could be manhandled. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but… these two hadn’t exactly kept up the end of their respective bargains, had they?

“Of course,” Simeon replied pleasantly. “I understand this is a delicate situation.”

“And this is a concern that affects more than meets the eye,” Solomon added, noting the expectant faces of his audience, like cats cornering a rat. He smiled easily. “In fact, you have caught us at a good time.” With the aura of one who had accomplished a task that had defied and obsessed him for months, he took his place. “Will you please explain to us what is going on here?”

He listened attentively, giving the proper responses as Diavolo and Lucifer took turns explaining. He brushed a tuft of silver hair out of his eyes, scanning the faces of the brothers. Each of them held accusations and suspicions; he ignored them all before he glanced at the one who sat across from him and not above.

The gaze between them was transient; Solomon’s smile never wavered, and his eyes only darted up and went back down, as though his human vision had picked up a flying dust mote. But somehow, as stupid as Belphegor knew himself to be, hoped. A different pain pounded his chest.

“I have indeed passed on Celestial oils to Lucifer.” Simeon kept himself just as courteous and unreadable as his human companion, if not more. “Which, seeing as they weren’t returned or disposed of, meant that they were, as I have said, sealed and handled properly?”

“This is true,” Lucifer admitted.

“So if they were indeed used to destroy Lamentation, someone else had misused them.” Simeon looked at Belphegor, then back to Diavolo. “I say this now: I have put no hidden charm on those bottles to intend harm. Nor have I caused this tragic event—and that includes all other known residents of Purgatory Hall.” His eyes turned piercing.

Trials worked differently here, and not just because Lord Diavolo was a sentient polygraph. He had detained them as potential witnesses, but there was no hard evidence. And the frustrating part was that there was no lie in his words. Not a damn one. And he couldn’t simply command them to explain everything and get a straight answer!

“What of you, Solomon?” He turned to him next. “If you have any part in this, indirectly or no, you must speak.”

“Actually, I had stopped by hours before the fire; Asmodeus can confirm.”

“And you had given me… perfumes,” Asmodeus realized, wanting to kick himself in his beautiful head. “Beel! Give me that censer!”

“I had,” Solomon reiterated calmly. “But after I had given them to you, I had kept myself within Purgatory Hall… yes… Barbatos, you’d have told Lord Diavolo straight away if I did anything out of the ordinary, no? As some of you may know, I had been working on a complicated project concerning the betterment of the human world. Despite there being some demons who would’ve scorned such an endeavour,” here he rested his gaze on Belphegor once more, knowing that he had every right to, “it was a success.”

If the eye-nod wasn’t enough, those words clinched it. The demon of sloth sank in his chair, felt his spirits exhale to a resigned sort of elation as he struggled to maintain a properly browbeaten appearance. So Solomon _had_ succeeded after all. You were given a chance to live and he’d never see you again.

 _This was what Lucifer felt,_ he realized with a throb of grief that must’ve been shared, all those years ago. _This was the sacrifice he made for us,_ he clenched his teeth, channelling every atom of demonic malice he had left, hoping he had enough for one last betrayal in a long line of sins.

“What garbage,” he sneered. “Do you actually believe this?” Pointing to Diavolo. “I’ll tell you what he did. Those perfumes? I mixed them into the incense after stealing them from Asmo. I had Solomon get them for me, just like I had him—” A contemptuous scoff towards Simeon, “—mess with your minion.” He laughed, and he meant it. “You guys were too easy to fool.”

“Of course we would be,” Diavolo agreed. “Betrayal never comes from our enemies.”

“So you thought you and Lucifer would decide everything and believe that we’d follow like your slaves?” The words were coming fast, he had to crane his head. “You must be joking. Or are you really as naive as you look?”

“Belphegor!” Lucifer roared. _“Enough!”_

No, it wasn’t. They were still wavering. It galled him to think that he was taking the blame for an angel and a human as arrogant as Solomon, but they did it. Now it was his turn. “This entire trial is a sham,” he snarled at his brother. “What would I care for any _human?”_ He spat the word. “You think after everything, I’ll suddenly **magically** like humans again? Might as well kill me now because that’s not going to happen! It’s all… useless!”

“Belphie,” Asmo’s fingers were shaking. Was this the hill his family was going to fragment on? He had hoped, somewhere, that if they brought Simeon and Solomon, that there would be another solution, one that didn’t have to end with losing. “Belphie, why are you…?”

Belphegor hadn’t realized that he had stood up before a wave of magic pushed him back down in his chair. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and when he could finally look up again, all he saw was hate and determination.

“I think this will do,” Diavolo spoke again at last. “One more question, Belphegor. Regarding our other human exchange student… do you know where they are?”

He gave him the same answer he had given Barbatos. “… Not anywhere you’ll get your hands on.”

Simeon ignored Diavolo’s answer, Mammon’s heated rebuttal, and Leviathan’s objection, wondering how and when Belphegor had become capable of causing this kind of pain to his brothers. What was he thinking, this demon who turned his back on everything that had indulged and protected him? Beelzebub was saying something.

“What?” Leviathan stared at his brother, though he had spoken clearly.

Nevertheless, the Avatar of Gluttony repeated. “He’s guilty.”

Satan froze, too stunned to muster rage. Surely no one had expected that. Lucifer had told all of them to recuse themselves if they felt unable to execute an unbiased judgement, but… he watched Beelzebub as the latter straightened his back, his eyes much too dark, almost black, but free of tears. He had to nudge Asmodeus, said with a toneless voice, “Your turn.”

Oh, hell. How he wanted to hold him and tell him what a brave, terrible thing he had done. But something in his face told Lust that Gluttony would not welcome his embrace just now. Waiting for what felt to be a good interval, he spoke. “Belphegor has spoken for himself. I, Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust, also pronounce him guilty.”

Were they really doing this? Condemning their own brother? Lucifer had gone to war against his Father for daring to condemn their beloved sister. How could they, oh, how could any of them face her after this.

“Hey, Belphie.”

He didn’t respond.

Leviathan flushed, wilting under everyone's scrutiny. He tried again. “Belphie, is that really it?”

“What do you mean by that, Leviathan?” Lucifer cut in.

“Nothing, it’s just…” his voice grew incrementally smaller with each syllable; he hated public speaking. “Something’s always hidden in these kinds of things, from what I’ve—” he wiped his brow, “—seen. Like a clue, a bit of… whatever… that turns the whole thing around.”

Belphegor coughed. “This isn’t an anime.” He tossed a careless finger at Diavolo, “Isn’t it?”

Solomon watched with the same intensity as Barbatos, his interest hardly dissuaded by the brief disappointment that he would have to use another method to forge a pact with Beelzebub. Now… what kind of punishment would Belphegor receive? Diavolo wouldn’t have him killed; that, everyone knew. There were plenty of fates worse than death.

Simeon nudged Solomon, who gave a curt nod.

“The Council’s vote is unanimous.” The ruler-to-be proceeded.

“Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth and Seventh Prince of Hell, we have judged and found you guilty.”

It was a given from the beginning, so why did his stomach plummet and palms sweat? Barbatos had said as much to him, down in the deepest corners of his dungeon. Was it because his brothers looked equally distraught or was it because even Diavolo, who had no reason to like him in the slightest, actually looked at him with sympathy? Was that sympathy for him? Or for Lucifer?

“Simeon, Solomon, thank you for taking the time to help us in our counsel.”

Simeon rose. “You are most welcome. Come, Solomon. We should return to Purgatory Hall.”

“Wait.”

Solomon’s fingers twitched. “Yes, Barbatos?”

“My lord and I would have a discussion with you after this, regarding your… recent particular behaviour.”

He bowed with a flourish. “It would be my pleasure.” They smiled at each other, all under the guise of flawless courtesy, the cordial host and the generous guest. How you hated such things, he remembered with amusement. But you had seen the necessity of such masks and accepted that he would always use them, even if you detested the concept itself.

“Is there anything else you would like to say to us before we take our leave?” Solomon tilted his head towards the doors.

**“—fucker!”**

Then the doors disappeared, breaking away into light and smoke.

* * *

You didn’t see it, but Luke took extra care to tread on the demon’s fingers as he led you inside.

Your clothes (actually, Simeon’s spare robes) could’ve made you look like an angel if you hadn’t gone dumpster-diving. Looking around, you saw that they were still thunderstruck, doubting their senses. Demons like them, they could only believe so many miracles in such a timespan.

“Luke?” You were relieved that he had still held onto your hand.

“Yes! I’m right here!” His fingers, laced through yours, tightened with gratitude. “That’s the second time you helped me.”

“Nah,” you cleared your throat. “Call it even, for… well, everything I did.”

You liked talking with Luke; he never made your head hurt. But you knew you had an audience who must be addressed. Except, uh… you hadn’t really thought so far as to exactly what to _say_ after your grandiose entry zinger. Soaking in the sight, you basked in the almost-familiarity: everyone looking from above and across you, the human freak who just wouldn’t stay quiet and play nice.

Thinking about that made you mad. Maybe none of this would’ve happened if they weren’t such idiots about it. “What?” You snapped, growing weary of the continued silence, “Looking at me like I _died_ or something.”

“Is it truly?” You couldn’t tell which brother whispered that.

“No, it can’t… a trick? An imposter?” Throat spasming, Mammon had rebounded out his chair, barely conscious of having shifted to his true form as he blindly approached this tantalizing phantom. Maybe he was sleepwalking, for you never came to him except through dreams. The ghost shuddered back, its features crumpling in reluctance.

“Shit,” you panicked, stumbling backwards. “Not so fast! F-fuck off!”

A loud _bang_ and Mammon ‘fucked off’—right across the Council Hall, hurtled against the wall headfirst. Groaning, he slid down, clutching at anything he could hold onto and coming up empty-handed. But he was back on his feet, slowly realizing what had sent him with such force: a pact command.

And he hadn’t made a pact in the last five Devildom months since the second human exchange student accepted him as their first demon. The room swayed side to side as though it had a life of its own. He said your name through lips that didn’t feel like his own. Muttered, more like. An ominous murmur, the calm before a storm.

Simeon and Solomon, who had already seen you alive and kicking, rose to join you with welcoming, if slightly befuddled, smiles. That didn’t stop Luke from keeping the other demons at bay. “What are you, idiots?” he yelled.

Simeon made a face. “Luke, you can’t question something like that,” he reproached.

Luke thought on this briefly, then nodded. “You’re right,” he mumbled. “You’re all idiots!” he shouted at the brothers.

It was an opinion Leviathan would agree with, what with his self-confidence being practically nonexistent. Alas, he was still digesting this overload of information; to call it a _plot twist_ was so cliché, as though humans popped in and out of life all the time. Maybe they did, and he had seen such creativity behind screens and in manga pages. Like Mammon, he doubted his senses.

Lucifer, who was still re-learning what it meant to be speechless with shock, shook his head. “I cannot believe it,” he said at last, his words belying the desperately careful strides he took towards you as if any footstep louder than a whisper would revoke this marvel.

“Easy, Lucifer.” Simeon stepped in between. “They were accosted by demons just before entering. Give them space.” He put a gentle hand on his shoulder, ready to harden and push away should Lucifer refuse to heed his words.

You wiped your mouth on your sleeve. Your right eye kept twitching. Your hands throbbed. Everyone was looking at you. Someone else was going to speak for you if you didn’t speak for yourself. Another lesson learned the hard way.

“You could’ve waited for us outside, you know.” You had never seen someone frown and smile at the same time, but obviously Solomon would pull it off. “We were just about done here.”

You raised your upper lip. “Oh, really? You right, my bad. Lemme just get out of your hair.” Giving an exaggerated bow, you strutted towards the gaping hole that had granted you entrance. “I was about to go home anyway.”

Quick as a flash, someone darted from the peripheral of your vision, blocking your path. Just as well: you never expected them to _listen._ Letting go of Luke and stepping forward, you took the staff in both hands because a sideways golf swing was faster than belting out another rhyme.

The force of your blow careened into what felt like a slab of concrete. He lurched, knees slamming onto the floor with a grunt. “Stay back!” You snarled.

“Are you real?” He choked up the words. “Are you really here?”

Ah… Beelzebub. You hesitated, but your grip was firm. So what if he looked at you like you were a vision? He gruffed, and you realized that he was trying to get closer to you despite some unseen force holding him back.

Wow, you thought. You really had to be careful with what you said from now on.

But first: wow, how good it felt to finally be in power for a change.

You wished to indulge in this euphoria a little longer, but the way Beel’s mouth quivered and the utterly broken anguish in his eyes made that hard. If each demon had been your ‘first’ in some way, he had been the first demon to—you couldn’t remember. Where memories were absent, there were feelings, and he was the first demon you had wanted to protect.

You heard your name but not from him. Those who could move and had no pact with you drew near with the caution of dismantling a landmine. Barbatos’ face was the way one’s face was when losing a game when they had the winning hand: begrudging, annoyed that they couldn’t help but be impressed at the gambit. Diavolo was searching for words to speak. And Lucifer…

“How is this possible?”

While you couldn’t know what had happened before you entered the scene, you had enough brain to sense that directly implicating anyone would be a very bad idea. You debated what to say, thinking over your chances, deciding that at this rate you could say anything without risking more than what was already on the line.

“Maybe you should’ve buried me deeper.”

Satan could’ve laughed if he wasn’t holding everything back. His hands clenched and unclenched and breath came in short bursts, but it wasn’t rage. What he felt encompassed every part of him, washing over him and his store of words, a rapture with no name.

“So, uh…” You tsked; you had so much more to say and now was the perfect time. Only… why couldn't you say anything? You looked at the brothers; you anticipated their careless ignorance to fuel your anger, counted on it for you to swing back in the most glorious way. That was how you had always fought; you defended, made them choose to come at you so whatever happened next was their fault.

“Idiots,” Luke muttered.

Leviathan paced, torn between wanting to come to you and terrified of being pushed back. “Are you an angel?”

Okay, that was pretty funny. “Not even close.”

“But you…”

“I got better,” you gave a shrug.

“Surely there’s more to it than that,” Diavolo finally intervened. “But here is no longer a place where we should have such a conversation. We have many questions, and surely you have them as well.”

“Might I suggest we return to the castle?”

“A good idea, Barbatos. Relieve Unza and Verrine of their posts if they’re still out there.”

“I’m afraid they’re not,” Simeon folded his hands together, announcing his presence behind you by placing a tender hand on your arm. Later, Asmodeus would tell himself he hadn’t felt envious of the way the angel got you to lower the staff without saying a word. Not at all.

Hm? Those demon trash had names? Not that you’d bother remembering them. “Yeah, the demons just _love_ the humans. Great program.”

“A lot has happened during your… absence,” Diavolo ran his tongue over his lips. “I believe an open discussion will do much to resolve our respective problems.” He waved his arms, and your eyes naturally followed his hand movements and then you noticed: that demon. He was skinnier than before, but his lack of girth didn’t stop the familiar tide of irritation surging like bile. Was Diavolo _still_ talking? You could feel the eyes on you, hoping to pick you apart. For the good of all the realms; he liked saying that to anyone who’d listen. ‘Pain is a necessary step towards improvement in the Devildom.’ Sure, it worked like that back in your world, too. That didn’t mean you’d fucking bend over for him.

“And if I say no?”

The room went quiet, the only sounds being the faint murmurs of students outside, wondering what happened to blast the double doors of the Council Hall into scrap wood. Diavolo and Barbatos frowned at each other like they must’ve misheard, but when the sovereign called you by name, he looked pained, like he actually cared what happened to you.

“We have let you down, myself most of all. I take it you’re upset with me for… many things. Then it’s even more vital that we speak what festers on our minds and find a resolution more peaceful than the last, and make right where possible.”

Diavolo took a step forward, lacing his fingers in appeal. Behind him were the faces of rising foreboding, and the expression on Lucifer was such that you took a step back, right into Simeon. “Sorry,” you grunted.

“It’s all right,” his face too was pinched. “Hush.”

“You're not hurting them ever again!” Luke leapt in front of you with arms spread wide.

Another sacrifice, which you would never allow. Things had always been a mess because that was all demons knew to do, but this one was yours. Your face tightened when you saw Mammon stumbling back to rejoin his brothers, Lucifer placing a supportive arm beneath his wings. You found it hard to meet their eyes.

“Consider the situation,” Diavolo added.

“They,” you pointed to those who had never betrayed you, “come with me.”

“But of course.”

* * *

If the bastard wanted a private conversation then why did he let the Purgatory residents accompany you?

Because you wouldn’t cooperate otherwise, idiot. They were treating you like a rabid animal, trying to lull you into a trap where all of your struggles will be useless. But until then, you were a thorn in the side, a splinter in the eye. A belligerent fire that simple promises and threats couldn’t put out.

“Here,” you held out the staff. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it a little longer?”

“Hm… you’re right. I’ll try not to break it.”

He grinned back, making himself scarce as Simeon explained to you and Luke.

“I had never seen all of the brothers look so…” Simeon trailed off, lost in the quest to find the right word.

“Mad? Sad?” You offered.

“Yes… and no. Both, but more.”

“Smad?”

They were his brothers, too. You wondered suddenly what he thought of you; you had refused to speak to any of the demon brothers who were once Simeon’s family. Even on the journey to Diavolo’s Castle, you insisted on going by foot, accompanied by your non-demonic entourage. You had hoped… well, you had hoped that you’d think of what you ought to say on the walk there. You were smad, too.

“You’ve returned to us,” was the first thing Diavolo said when you emerged through the castle doors. “Has He given us another chance?”

You wanted to spit at him, to scream that you didn’t come back to rescue his precious exchange program. But then you saw Satan pinning Asmodeus back, muffling his brother’s protests of “I want to make sure they’re real! Don’t you want to hold them, too?”

You shrugged, neither confirming nor denying it. If you had a hotline to the big man above, it must’ve broke. All of them were burning with questions waiting to be answered.

“Solomon,” Barbatos faced him with a dangerously calm edge to his voice. “Did you bring them back from the dead?”

You probably should’ve kept your mouth shut, but it felt good to throw it in his face, all the more so because he had never seen it coming. “Upset because you couldn’t do it yourself?”

Solomon gave you a cautionary look, but, as usual, too late. Barbatos gave a cool smile. “I apologize, but I was speaking to Solomon. I say this for the benefit of you and your realm… that you be very mindful of where you are.”

You could count on Barbatos and his like-minded self-righteous pricks to remind you of your place and not listen to a damn thing you said. So you smiled back. “Then take your own advice and be ‘mindful’ of why _exactly_ I was here to begin with.”

“That’s enough,” Solomon said to you both. “I have no need to avoid the question; it’s only fair that they should be curious. This was part of an old favour, which I had carried out as per request. I cannot bring the dead back to life, but occasionally a lost lamb can be led back.”

“What does that mean?” A scratchy voice made you wince. “Lucifer?”

Lucifer shook his head, as helplessly ignorant as Mammon. “Did you know what Belphegor did from the beginning?”

“I did.” No hesitation.

“Then why didn’t you tell us?!” Satan roared, making you jump. But Solomon didn’t even flinch.

“Because,” Simeon came protectively in front of you both, “Belphegor wished to atone and Solomon wished to help. Both did it the only way they knew how.”

You thought of Belphegor, who was not with these people; he was back in his cell. Because he was guilty. Never before did you have such a useful scapegoat. But the wrongs you did, they were nothing compared to the wrongs inflicted upon you, right? So it balanced out, you told yourself. Not really, but it’d do.

“If you had told us,” Asmodeus twirled a finger through the hem of his scarf, “We would’ve helped.”

“Oh, yeah?” Luke stomped his foot. “Help break their necks again and eat their soul, you mean?” Simeon rebuked him and the younger angel slumped against the wall, muttering under his breath. His accusing eyes never left the brothers.

“Lucifer, let me go. I can walk fine now,” Mammon pulled back, but Lucifer held firm. His brother gave him a pleading look, which prompted the firstborn to clear his throat, speaking to you.

“Can you spare a moment for the one who… has hurt you the least out of my brothers?”

Your head snapped up and your mind screamed _no._ But then you realized the one who hurt you least, not the one you had hurt the last. Pride, who usually commanded, was now pleading and not even on his own behalf.

“You don’t have to.” Luke broke free of Simeon’s grip, pulling on your shirt and pushing Solomon behind. “You owe them nothing.”

It didn’t feel like that, but you remembered you made a promise with Luke, too. So you made the only rational decision left. You turned to Diavolo.

“If we’re going to talk one-on-one, you can’t take him with you.”

Diavolo smiled apologetically and nodded. “I understand your caution. No, Barbatos, I understand where they’re coming from. You will wait outside.”

“Then, my lord, they should relinquish their weapon as well. I will settle for that.”

“You’re saying I should let go of the only thing that’s keeping me from being killed?”

“I am referring to the fact that Lord Diavolo is willing to speak freely; a flag of truce, if you will. The least you can do is reciprocate.” Barbatos smirked.

You scowled, tapping your foot. Took one step, then another, towards the ruler of the Devildom. Then you hurled the staff over your shoulder, hearing the _thwip_ of Solomon catching it with one hand. How you hated losing.

“Hey, Luke,” you called without turning your head, “If I don’t come out in an hour, take care of the rest for me, okay?”

* * *

Since Barbatos wasn’t present, there was no tea. Ah, you had almost missed this fugly lamp.

He took his seat, and for the longest time, said nothing. His sigh was heavy, reminding you that you were just as exhausted as he seemed to be. You wished you were back in Purgatory, nestled in Simeon’s bed.

No; fuck that. You wished you were _home_ so you could leave all of this behind and somehow try to forget all of this, and go back to being the person you used to be. Back when you were nothing but someone’s uncomplicated child, friend, classmate was a distant echo now. Even if Barbatos could make that a reality, you weren’t sure he would. You’d rather die than beg him of all demons for a favour.

And you knew that it wasn’t possible anyway.

What were you thinking, Diavolo wondered, this individual whom he had brought to his academy, one who had carried the hopes of humanity into the immortal realms of demons. One who still carried them, under the muddied clothes and face set like stone, staring in stark silence.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Would you like something to drink?”

You shook your head.

“I imagine you have much to say.”

You should.

“I am willing to hear you out,” he urged. “What I should’ve done, in our last conversation… nay, even before that. That you are here before me means that it’s still not too late to reach a mutual understanding.”

Mutual understanding… between a demon prince and a common human? When had that ever been feasible? It was stupid to even want such a thing. You focused on your anger and, when that wasn’t enough, you focused on your exhaustion. You didn’t want to think about anything else that would make you weak.

“When I became heir to my Father’s throne and title,” he went on, “I swore that I would never tell a lie. It was the least I owed my people, especially with my gift of knowing when one tells me the truth.”

What a dumb thing to swear by. You didn’t have to lie to hide the truth. Why should you even bother trusting him? You were getting better at answering your own questions: you had no choice.

“I have questions for you, too; that goes without saying. But with what you have done for my realm and the people most dear to me, you deserve to have your questions answered first. I will answer as truthfully as I can… and you must promise me that you will do so as well.”

A spark kindled. What right did he have to ask more of you? Hadn’t he taken enough? You sighed through your nose, closed your eyes. Beneath the flickering ire, you were spent. Dying was so easy by comparison.

He waited for your assent, smile wilting when it became clear you wouldn't give one. He heaved another sigh and you waited for him to turn his request into a command, to call in Barbatos or Lucifer or whatever to coerce your cooperation while he sat in the background smiling like it wasn’t his doing.

“Yes… I suppose Belphegor wouldn’t be the only one to have lost the privilege to your good graces.”

You opened your mouth. “Are you going to kill me?”

His eyes flicked to meet yours, encouraged that you had responded at all. “What for?”

Your feet ached. But sitting meant you accepted your place as a guest. “Everything.”

“Why would I?” He leaned forward. “Those inside and outside this room are very important to me. Why would I want to inflict something so final and terrible as death on any of them?”

“Important to your plans, you mean,” you glowered. “So.”

“Whatever you have to say, I will listen,” he spread his hands wide, welcoming. “And I promise you, no one else will hear them save you and me.” He looked earnest, wise, and vulnerable at the same time. If it was a calculated look, he pulled it off well. “It is far from reconciliation, but it is a step that I will take. The beginning to right wrongs. As the ruler of the Devildom, the leader of the Student Council, I must give my people answers and stability. I am asking your input to give you your answers as well.”

Something in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. You didn’t like how measured his tones were; you would’ve preferred outright rage. And you understood: for all your outbursts, if you made him your explicit enemy, you would have no one on your side. If Diavolo decided to scrap his pet project and considered you a liability, then…

What was it your father said? Be careful of pushing people away, they might realize they like the distance. You stared back at Diavolo, loathing that you had to rely on him to keep you safe. This slimeball who was so cocksure none could resist his whims, that there was nothing he did that could be unforgiven.

“What about my family?” You’d rather not draw his attention to them, but you had to know.

“Safe as could be and none the wiser,” Diavolo raised his palms up. “They will continue to remain as such despite our previous deal being incomplete.”

“How’s it incomplete?”

“As I recall, their wellbeing was to be maintained at the bargain of you fulfilling the rest of your exchange program. Which,” he pressed his lips before detaching the words from his being, “isn’t finished.”

“Because I died.” You couldn’t believe your ears.

“I’m aware,” he acknowledged. “But now you’re here with a home in ruins, and the youngest avatar imprisoned in the dungeons of my castle for attacking his family.” A pause. “Do you wonder how much they grieved for you?”

You hoped nothing showed on your face. “They loved threatening me with death and dismemberment,” you said dispassionately, “and from what I learned of demons, they hardly lose sleep over their victims’ deaths. So I think it hardly matters.”

He shook his head. “Such traits are not unique to them, I’m afraid. I admit my subjects are still adjusting to understanding humans as a whole and their attitudes cannot change overnight. But if no step is made at all, progress cannot happen. After Solomon, a human as normal as can be would pave the way for true understanding that would help forge a lasting harmony despite our differences.”

You laughed. “You made a terrible choice.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You have… made a lasting impression on many of us in the Devildom. Myself included.”

“Fantastic,” you mumbled.

“And they love you,” he added.

The simplicity of the words threw you off. “Because of Lilith.”

He was shaking his head before you even said it. “She was irreplaceable. As are you. Both in different ways.”

You didn’t want to talk about it. “What about that demon?”

“Belphegor has been charged for the destruction he has caused. He has confessed freely to all of them, but there’s something missing in his words. Something he refuses to divulge, even to his brothers.” He nodded once to himself.

What of it? “How would I know what he thinks?”

“I’m not asking you to.” His gaze lingered on your irises. “I’m asking what your part was.”

You crossed your arms, hands curling into fists. Your part was **done.** Everything that happened after was nothing to you. You didn’t care; you weren’t _supposed_ to care. “I just left.”

“Then, did Belphegor cause the fire?”

“No.” Before you could think better of it: _“I_ did.”

He didn’t look surprised in the least. “Why?”

It produced a unique kind of adrenaline rush to freely admit a crime before the last person who ought to know about it. “Either that or the dog tore me to shreds.”

“So it wasn’t on purpose?”

“All I cared about was getting out.” You adjusted your footing.

“Do you know why Belphegor turned against the Council?”

A smile flickered; something went off in your head, and nervous energy jittered your insides.

“Belphegor stated that it was out of spite. While true, it seems he had an additional motive tied to you.”

“Because I owe you nothing!”

You didn’t have to yell that; your voice cracked and the words came shrill, making you sound like a child; harder to take seriously. If you had been aiming for technical correctness, the exact words should’ve been ‘because I don’t want to owe you and the rest of the demons any favours’, but you were trembling eyes and taut muscles, ready to spring.

Diavolo opened his mouth several times, then closing it, deciding that whatever he was going to say, wasn’t right. Eventually, he nodded. He had never meant to be cruel, but he saw in your face that it didn’t make him any kinder.

“I understand,” he said at last. And did—as much as a demon could a human.

Your gaze shifted. The tension in your limbs didn’t go away.

“Are you going to kill me?” you repeated.

He shook his head. “No.” He stood up slowly. “That will never happen. Not here, not in the human realm, and not ever.”

He waited for you to relax. Instead you demanded, “Why?”

Because beneath the layers of grudges you harboured, there was still something worth reaching for. Because you were someone who touched the hearts of Lucifer, his brothers… and even himself, someone more than a carrier of his ambitions of uniting the three worlds. He wasn’t sure what that meant exactly or the real nature of his intrigue as you blundered and hacked your way through his realm and pulled it off anyway. Because now it was his and everyone else’s turn to gain your trust and prove worthy of your affections, your forgiveness.

But all he said was, “Because that is not the full story.” as he looked you in the eye. Hoping that you could understand why he couldn't say everything, as the ruler of a realm that came with countless constraints.

You made a strange sound with your tongue that would stick with Diavolo because then you turned away from him, not bothering to look at him anymore like he was no longer worth your time.

“Might I ask you one more thing? Where you… were… was outside the reach of all three realms. I take it that Solomon was able to find you, but… well… while you were ‘there’, did you encounter anything else, if you remember?”

You stared at the chipped edges of the wallpaper, pondering on where you’d sleep from now on. “Just him.” And he had been annoying, but you didn’t say that.

Diavolo stopped a few steps short of you, held out his hand. You stared at it, looked past him at the desk. Said nothing as you trailed behind him as he opened the door.

* * *

After throwing around important-sounding words like “judicial review” and “new evidence against the common law of Devildom standards”, Diavolo called an emergency meeting with Lucifer and Barbatos.

“Will you join?” he asked. You shook your head, drew closer to Luke. His hands rubbed against yours, encircling, trying to warm your frozen fingertips. Three against one? You’d take those odds any other day, but not today. Your humanness hung heavy and you were tired of yourself. Tonight, perhaps, being someone else could take a load off your shoulders. 

“I will hold a separate discussion with you,” Diavolo spoke to the two elders of Purgatory Hall. “Since I cannot guarantee it will end shortly, I will have rooms prepared for all of you to use for the night. The guest chambers are yours to use as you would. For now, perhaps you’d like to wait a while?”

It was a politely posed question with the weight of an order, and even Luke was adult enough to see it as such, that there was no choice being offered. You made to walk with them.

“Not a word for us?” Satan asked, quiet as tragedy.

You stopped, turned. Luke’s grip tightened. The remaining brothers… what could you possibly say to them? ‘Good to see you’; ‘Hope y’all don’t try to kill me again’; ‘Sorry I torched your house’—

“Good…” you fumbled, “you’ll kill my house… again.”

While Satan tried to understand what the hell you meant by that, Simeon stretched his shoulders, discreetly unfurling his cloak in front of you like a shield. “They have had a stressful day,” he explained before addressing you. “Would you like to take a shower? I will escort you to your room.”

Shower sounded good. You could also use some clean clothes. That perked you up a bit.

“Why do you speak for them, Simeon?” Asmodeus plastered a smile that sat cold on his face. “I believe my brother was talking to them, not you.”

“I meant no offence,” Simeon responded, unbothered. “But why are you offended, Asmodeus? If my action was a disservice, they would be the wronged party.”

“And it wasn’t,” you spoke, a thin voice that sliced the air, seeping into their ears and confirming the reality of your aliveness anew. “It wasn’t,” you repeated.

Asmo’s mouth moved, wordless. Then you heard your name from a different source, one unaccustomed to taking the spotlight.

“L-look, um…” Leviathan retracted his fingers, struggling to get your attention while maintaining a safe distance (for him? Or for you?) “I know what I did… I mean, you’ll probably never want to hang around the likes of me ever again, what with what I…” he gulped, “that is… what happened and all… and you’d want to keep your distance… what I’m trying to say is…” 

If this was one of the anime movies he made you watch, this was where you’d interrupt him with an understanding smile. You’d step forward, put a finger to his lips as you said those words of unconditional forgiveness: “It’s okay. I forgive you. I made a mistake.” Something like that. Then he’d tell you how very sorry he was and dissolve into your arms as you hugged him amidst the downpour of his tears, crying just as hard as him. If only.

You were sorry but you didn’t cry and you didn’t so much as budge an inch towards him. You watched him flounder with his words and wondered how it was that he still couldn’t say what he truly meant. And if no one did, why should they count on you to interpret for them?

You stepped back, watched as the stream of words stalled into a halt. But you didn’t yell, either. An angry demon, you lashed back with your own anger. A demon jackass who overrode your autonomy just because he could, you seethed with impotent resentment. But a remorseful demon…? What vitriol could you draw up for that?

“Gonna go wash,” you announced to no one in particular.

You turned to a waiting Simeon and in the recesses of Mammon’s mind, he saw you disappearing again. But then another nightmare haunted: you shrinking back from him, ordering you away from him because that was the pact command he had spent nights wishing you had uttered instead of your death. A second death. Would you make him do the third, too? And in whose arms would you be in then, since his own were defiled?

He watched you walk away, each step sending a thrill of pain and relief down him. Relief that your every step away wasn’t you forcing his hand. Again.

* * *

“You can’t keep doing this.” A pause, for you to pace about as you stared at the obsidian tiles that covered the floor, all four walls, even the ceiling. “You can’t keep running away.”

But you weren’t! You were protecting yourself!

“The pacts are protection enough. You can make them attack Diavolo with a single command.”

But you wouldn’t. You had plenty of intrusive thoughts that you’d never act on and sicking five brothers against the demon ruler was hardly the most disturbing one you had. You weren’t _nice_ but even to you that seemed excessive.

The most unsettling part: if you kept the demons at arm’s length, none would push you to close that gap. Simeon wouldn’t chastise you for it, not after the shitstorm you went through. You _knew_ Luke would endorse it. Though you never talked to Solomon about it, you sensed on an instinctive level that this was one matter he would observe rather than push in a specific direction.

In this refurbished bathroom with steam still fogging the mirror, you only had yourself to consult for the best course of action. Hardly the well of wisdom that you needed. You hoped this place was soundproof as you continued verbally sparring against your reflection like the nutcase you knew you were.

On one hand, you were talking nonsense to tire yourself into lasting oblivion. On the other, you were hyping yourself up to perpetuate a streak of questionable worth.

But when the dust settled, truths stood as they were. Even the most volatile of emotions couldn’t change them, and you of all people knew it—knew to _respect_ it. Which was why you slipped into the clothes that were folded out for you, appreciating their plainness. You had commanded enough attention for a lifetime, maybe two.

And then you did something that was very childish and pathetically human: you prayed. You even remembered the sign of the cross, a remnant from Sunday school.

However, you didn’t pray _to_ God. Instead, you prayed to the tiny piece of courage Simeon saw in you. Not that you doubted God’s existence (kinda impossible to at this point) but given your track record, even the most insipid deity would know you were a bad apple. You hoped your family’s innocence in this crapload would count for something. And that—it’d likely hurt more than help, yet the human nature to wonder persisted—you had enough spine left to face the brothers one more time. Properly. As equals, or as close to equals a demon and human could get.

Why? You still loved, you felt guilt, you were lonely. You were human, not an aesthetical mystery. Reasons didn’t have to have reason in them and those who didn’t know just made their own reasons to explain your actions anyways.

“It’s not right!” Luke folded his arms, shaking his head as he paced. “Why are _we_ being held hostage? They should be the ones grovelling for forgiveness, not the other way around!”

It was late into the night. Barbatos had invited Luke to test a new recipe he had devised, seemingly unbothered at the vehement refusal. Solomon was called to give a more accurate account of the part he had played.

“Are the brothers that important to you?” He was looking down now, playing with the frayed ends of his stole.

You reached for a teacup, playing with the handle. “Every realm has its idiots.”

“If they hurt you—”

“—then I’ll see you in the Celestial Realm,” you put the cup down. “Oh, Luke. Don’t… I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not!”

“Luke, you sweet, sweet—c’mere.” Man, Simeon was going to kill you for teaching this kid all the wrong things. “I might be wrong, but listen to me anyway. Do you know why I want to talk to them even if it might fail?”

“Because you’re really an angel?”

“Nah. Because I…” you lowered your head, just in case there were, oh, you didn’t know, wall gremlins, “I… have no idea.”

“Wh…!” He jerked his head back, searching your face for signs of malice. But you weren’t teasing him. “Huh?”

“Will you hate me, Luke?” you asked him. “Will you hate me if I,” you struggled with the word, “trust them one more time?”

_Have faith, Luke. Trust our Father as you trust in me. He is wrathful, but He is compassionate and forgiving. You are young yet, but you will see His love and believe. His forgiveness, His love will be with you and you will see them through me, through those all around you._

He still didn’t understand but with the memory of his archangel’s words, his remaining defiance vanished and he let you comfort him. He was another first, and rightly so: the receiver of your first proper apology.

“I’m so, so sorry, Luke.”

Simeon was the most perceptive angel you’d ever met. He seated himself beside you and put an arm around you both, his hands reassuring as a parent’s. How hard it must be for Luke to learn the most difficult duty of protecting was not to protect, but to yield and let go as necessary. Michael learned this the hard way, too.

Luke wiped his face with his sleeve. You held onto his fingers, held tight. Forgiving you had to be easier than forgiving everything else. “I want cake when I come back.”

“But there’s no kitchen…”

Way to cause more hassle, moron. “Ah, shit. Don’t worry about it, then.”

“N-no!” He was on his feet, going through a mental list of ingredients. “If I can… yeah, I can! These demons can’t stop me from taking advantage of their kitchens!” Some energy returned to his complexion. “Do you want anything else?”

“Cream puffs?” You poked his nose; he usually cringed when you did that. Guess both of you were changing. “Then I’ll have no choice to come back and eat them all.”

“Deal!” Now he tugged at Simeon. “Come with me!”

“Now, Luke, we’ll still need Barbatos’ permission to—”

“Hmph. _I_ can do that. You’re coming so you’ll know when he’ll attack me when I’m not looking.”

Simeon nodded, gave you a dry look that, since your back was turned, went unnoticed.

While Luke braced for confrontation, you pondered how long you’d keep this strange benevolent wisdom. It came easy when you looked out for Luke; the need to do something for you, however trivial, coupled with the promise that you _would_ return unscathed would be a healing step.

“You will be safe,” Simeon called out.

* * *

Sure, you said you’d talk to them. But in the now-silent corridors, the notion of going door-to-door trick-or-treating for remedying conversation felt silly. So you wandered into the castle garden, unblocked by the demon servants who didn’t dare to so much as talk to you. One actually screeched when you decided to fuck around and grin at them, and you guffawed at their retreating backs.

You glanced up at a sky riddled with stars that rose and fell like breaths that wafted through the trees. Under the bony glow of the Devildom moon, the lake pool hummed.

You were really back, standing in the realm you were whisked to, snatched from the mass of people who must’ve shared the same blood that qualified your enrollment. A land older than you by eons, your stay less than a drop in the ocean of its legacy. Yet in that droplet, you defied the laws of this realm, its residents, and death. It sounded majestic, but you, the subject, found it corny. Such measures befitted heroes and tyrants; you saw yourself in neither.

A scream and the crash of multiple objects clattering to the ground. It startled you out of your reveries of being a child again, when you were someone else with the same beating heart. You whipped around. Mammon.

The pool rippled, placidly weaving its sounds through the silence that hung between you and him. You eyed the items strewn across the grass, then at the golden object in his hands; looked like an apple.

“Stealing?” You raised your eyebrows. “Again?”

“It’s not stealing if no one realizes it’s gone,” he mumbled, folding his hands behind his back.

What dumb logic. “Fair enough.” You bent forward, picking up a crystalline owl. “Here. Take it.”

His features crumpled. “Just like that?”

Did you stop him before? “Are you gonna take it or not?”

He wasn’t called the Avatar of Greed for nothing. He drew closer, guided to your outstretched palm. His index finger brushed over your knuckle and he stood transfixed. You didn’t seem to notice the effect you had on him, strong as magic. As far as he knew, you never did.

“What?” His face, his silence. What were you to say?

You could’ve said anything and it wouldn’t change that you were a memory that breathed. He needed the physical reality of your presence after months of nightmares and dead hopes. The owl slipped through the gaps in his fingers with the golden apple, forgotten. If he touched you now, could he trust himself—you—to not kill you?

“Hey,” you said. He came to life, and with it, his recoiling body. You weren’t doing a single thing that he could see except standing within arm’s reach, standing in the garden, holding the pieces of his shattered universe together with an ambiguous expression.

“Hey—” you tried again. Then in one swift motion, you were entwined in his arms; how cold he was. You were the human, but you felt his vulnerability a thousand times stronger than yours. His hands were shaking as he finally allowed himself to believe that you were here, in his arms, staring up at him with eyes that sparked with life.

Euphoria clashed against terror: if you were real, that meant you could be taken away again.

“Just what were you thinking, you absolute moronic, pigheaded, stupidass human!” He shook you by the shoulders, having no problem doubling his volume with each syllable. “Why! Why did you do this! What took you so long!”

You heard somewhere that while anger could be justified, cruelty could not. What a cruel thing it would be if he shook your joints apart; you swung your leg upwards, the dull thud of kneecap meeting crotch breaking his harangue.

“By fuckin’ Hell!” You shouted, amongst other profanity. “What do you mean why! Why do you think!”

Mammon’s outrage was only a little less than his shock. “Think? Is that what you even did? Then what was that? I was supposed to protect you and then you went ahead and made me do…” He crushed you to his chest, burying his head into your collarbone. “Anything. You should’ve said anything else than that. If you used that empty head o’ yours, you could’ve come up with something way better than that!”

Empty?! “Nothing would’ve changed!” you screamed as you struggled to shove him back. “You guys would’ve kept pretending it was fine because me going off and all was so inconvenient and nothing I did was… was…” You trailed off as you finally pulled yourself apart and saw. He was trembling.

It was hard to yell at a crying person. Especially if that person was breaking down into gross sobbing and especially if it was Mammon.

“Hey. Don’t cry.” You reached out your hand. He just touched it, repeating in a voice hollow as an echo. Your name.

“Who says I’m cryin’?”

“Nobody.” You socked his shoulder. “Wipe your sunglasses.”

He hesitated before you took them off yourself, wiping the wet lenses on your shirt. You just ended up smearing the glass, so you handed it back. His eyes were smudged, told little of peaceful sleep. Odd that your second resurgence was received so differently from your first. Probably expected with them losing their homes too; still.

“Why’d you have to do it?” His voice was breaking, tears still pooling. “Why’d it have to be me?”

You sat on the dew-soaked grass, began taking off your shoes and socks. Dipped your bare feet in the cold waters. “Because I’m an asshole.”

“Why me?”

“Roll up your pants a little more. Because no one would stop you.”

Silence. He sat close to you, feeling your arm move against his side. “That’s it?”

“Did Lucifer blame you?”

“He… I wish he did.”

“Mammon.”

“What?”

“If I stayed alive. Would things have been different?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Would everyone…” your toes splashed against a tiny wave, “everyone just wanted to move on. Would that have changed if things weren’t like… this?”

There was no good answer to that. You could read it on his face, and exhaled.

“Promise me you won’t do it again,” he said instead.

“Do what?” You picked a pebble from the side, threw it into the pool. You could never make them skip. “Die, or make you stuff me up a—”

“No!” he cried, making you flinch. His sob up close jabbed wounds of your own. “Don’t! Promise me you won’t!”

Your anger waned; to continue your question was the cruelty you sought to break away from. What in Satan’s mouldyass foreskin were you thinking? You dropped your next pebble. Let him cry. He lost something, too. You couldn’t say if this made things even; that idea which you had clung to once was long gone.

“Okay,” you said as you felt him shudder. Your voice was uneven; fatigue, you told yourself. “I won’t.” You let him hug you.

His hands shook as though he fought against something beyond your sight, but he didn’t let go. Like any lonely and unloved thing, the physical touch brought his heart to life: the crisp edge of newly minted coins, the sharp edges of stars, the dampness of your hair as you rested your head on his shoulder. The warm breath of your sigh broke his heart in a tenderness that intensified all the more with fear that you would leave him once more.

You didn’t say much. Neither did he. You stayed in his arms, staring out at the moon and the pool and the trees. You weren’t a big enough person to confess your regret. Not anymore.

But if this moment helped Mammon, then it would be enough. It was as oblique as an apology could get (if it counted at all), but when his body started to relax, you reached out, ran a hand through his hair. Reminded him you were alive. Maybe not the same as before, but who was? He smiled back a little.

“You should put them back before Lucifer kills you.”

“Put what back?”

* * *

“Ow ow ow! Put me down, Lucifer! I swear it’s all just a big misunderstand—”

“We’ll discuss your liberal interpretation of that word and guest etiquette in private, Mammon. If I don’t see each and every one of them in the exact place they should be by Barbatos’ exact standards, you can expect me to give you a fitting session on what it means to be a guest of Lord Diavolo.”

“You say that like you’re not gonna lecture me regardless—ack!”

Still, Mammon looked better. Some moments remained familiar and you indulged in it only the way a human could.

“Already back to trouble, I see.” Satan put a hand to his chin, turning a deaf ear as Lucifer dragged Mammon away by the ear.

Bet. “Where’re the others?”

“Levi and Asmo went to deal with the aftermath. We’re still the Avatars of Sin, and, well…” he eyed you carefully, “we still have our duties.”

“Oh.” You stuffed your hands into your pockets. “Cool.”

He nodded.

“So,” you cleared your throat. “You, uh… didn’t go with them?”

“I finished processing everything for the domains I’m in charge of.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and you saw the finely webbed lines around his eyes. “Also, Lucifer wanted someone to watch over the twins.”

“Right.”

“Yes.” He gave a slight bow. “I’ve troubled you enough. Unless… is there anything you need?”

Yes, there was. And likely Satan could do it for you. You’d ask Lucifer, but he only gave you a polite nod before hauling Mammon away. Like what you had done was beyond salvation. Maybe that was true as guilt gnawed inside you. But, before that. “Satan.”

“What is it?”

Who had asked you this? Was it poetic that you were asking now? “Do they—do you hate me?”

He started, his mouth hardening as though you had slapped him. “How could you possibly think that?”

Shit, he was mad. Ah, fuck. Again. But Satan appreciated logic, you remembered. “Given my history, I can think of a few. Property damage, for starts…?”

“Please.” He waved a hand. “Beel destroyed more than a set of doors on his last hunger strike. And I… well, I _am_ the Avatar of Wrath, and it is not an empty title. Not to mention what Belphie…” He folded his hands into his pockets. “I’m sure you’re caught up to speed.”

“True,” you conceded.

“The real question would if you would ever forgive us,” he said quietly.

“That’ll take time,” you managed to say. He didn’t reply, didn’t back away when you moved towards him. He was fickle about physical touch, but he blushed once when you poked him on the head, so you did just that—a caress instead of a poke, gentleness at last. You hoped it didn’t feel too awkward for him. “I, um…”

You almost apologized. Another bout of silence while you messed his hair and he stood still, allowing it to happen. When he raised his arms, you did what you should’ve done with Mammon and hugged him first.

“You’re back.” You couldn’t see his face but his voice was suspiciously hoarse. “You’re really with us. All the evidence pointed to…”

“Still stuck with me, unfortunately.”

“No.” His embrace tightened, surprising you. Had he always been this touch-enthusiastic? “This is as fortunate as a demon could get.”

“Then… the offer for midnight tea hasn’t expired yet?”

“Of course not. In fact, I think we’re long overdue for another session. But,” he pulled back, dry-eyed, studying you. “It seems you’ve something else in mind. What is it?”

You wavered. What if he said no? Better find out than agonize on the maybes; you had enough of those. “I want to see Belphegor.”

“Why?”

“Will you take me to him, Satan?”

“Will it help you? Will it help him?”

“I won’t know till I try.”

A heavy sigh. You were already half-hoping he’d say no, and you could assure yourself that you had done what you could. But then the pressure around you lifted and his D.D.D. was open, fingers rapidly typing a request and a response to a response. Then another message to another brother. He closed it, stowed it back into his pocket.

“Beel’s already there. I’ll have to be present as well… is that okay?”

You bit your tongue.

“It’s a long walk from here. Come, while I call Lord Diavolo for clearance.”

“Does he _have_ to know?”

“… You are aware, I hope, that we are going to meet a criminal who’s been judged guilty?” He waited for your rebuttal; nothing. “If it was anybody else… but it’s you.” He gave a weary smile and tapped your forehead. Wondered if it was the pact or his own powerlessness when it came to you that made refusing you an impossible thought.

You couldn’t read his mind but you grinned in a way that made him want to forget he had ever spurned your existence.

* * *

“What could I have done, Belphie?” he asked for the seventh time.

“You did all I asked for, Beel.” Belphegor struggled to stave off sleep a bit more, for Beel’s sake. “You knew. After everything I did, you still knew—and I’m proud of you for that. I—” he sighed, “—really am. Beel, I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t. If only you told me anything, maybe I could’ve…”

Whatever he could’ve done, Belphegor would never know. Because Beelzebub’s words broke off into a gasp as you stepped into view within the castle dungeons, accompanied by Satan. You grimaced at Beelzebub’s face, pressing your lips at the tears that filled his eyes, glimmering liquid gold in the crackle of torchlight. Satan handed him his handkerchief; you turned your head to face the prisoner.

Irony in the Devildom smelled like damp soil and closed spaces.

Night and day were already difficult enough to distinguish in the Devildom, but after an interminable stretch of redundancy, every change became a point of obsessive fascination. All thoughts of sleep evaporated as Belphegor roused himself, staggering towards you as much as he could with the bars holding him back.

The more alert he became, the more aged your face appeared, lined and sagged and wanting to be done with it all. Here came a thought: was it terrible to avoid having to straighten the tangled mess between you and him? What was stopping you from saying your piece and just… walk away?

“Why did you come here?” There was no venom in the question, only grief and desperation.

“Calm down, Beel,” Satan assured. “They came to talk.”

Huh. But if those two were already having a conversation—“I can come back later.”

“No!” Gripping the bars, his Adam’s apple rose and fell as if it were drowning. “No, I… don’t go. Please. I’ll listen.”

In another timeline, you would’ve laughed. Spat in his face because when had he ever done that for you? You knew how to taunt, the words that would pain him most. You could laugh at him the way he had laughed at you, and the other two demons? They were yours. Yours to command and yours to control.

“You,” you took care to stand beyond arm’s length even as the enchantments encasing his cell would prevent such liberties, “truly are a fool.”

Satan looked downwards. Maybe he should’ve gotten Lucifer to come with. But Wrath couldn’t find it in himself to deter your own anger: burnt out, leaving smouldering embers and charred ashes that still seared, but too exhausted to consume anything beyond itself.

Belphegor would’ve buried his face in his arms if it didn’t mean you’d disappear from his line of vision. “I know. Believe me, I know it won’t… what I did wouldn’t… change anything. All I can do at this point…” he was crying. Too many tears and you still weren’t sure if they were on your behalf. “All I can do is ask that you forgive me.”

You were hollowed out of sympathy. How else to explain the lack of sympathy before such a pitifully raw display? He was right; there was nothing he could do to you now but ask, plead, beg. Even if what he did saved your sorry hide from letting the demons have any say in your revival. Even if that didn’t matter anymore.

“And if I did?” Quiet words flickered like candlelight. “Then, what, we become best friends? In what realm? Not this one where whenever some demon decides to…” You glanced at Beel and Satan, halted that train of words. But you had to speak, for it had to be the last you would face him. All loose ends should be tied up before leaving it all behind.

“Things with Solomon are clear?”

His head snapped up at this. “Crystal.”

You nodded. Beelzebub looked lost and you wouldn’t be the one to break his ignorance. You were thankful that this demon was finally contained, and you dismissed your worries; they wouldn’t kill him and anything that happened, he’d overcome and therefore nothing you should concern yourself with. There was no reason part of your anger should mingle with old sentiment whose roots you didn’t dare examine too closely.

“You pulled through this time.” You owed yourself to admit this, even if it was to this demon. “I didn’t think you would, but you did.”

It was a loose thread of hope, but Belphegor grabbed onto it. “It was the only thing I could try to do. Are you… all right? You’re not hurt?”

Eh, was it… you shrugged. “I think you should worry about yourself more.”

He scoffed but became restless when your attention shifted to the others. “I’m sorry. For… hurting you ever since you came here.”

He was about to say more, but that you didn’t want to hear. Hastily interrupting, you blurted, “I didn’t come here to listen to all that. I came to just make sure that… well…” you jerked back reflexively when he moved. “This is the end of the road.”

A human expression that conveyed enough. Three demonic pairs of eyes reflected the same pain that you had no desire inflicting, but you were so… ‘exhausted’ barely covered it. So many words for your utter lack of energy. It was like you dumped him, this plaintive creature you had managed almost immediately upon coming here.

“Listen to me, demon. You have done enough. Your brothers and the rest of them will manage everything and I’m done with… this… everything.” You raised your hands, figuratively washing them free. Figurative, of course, but the air felt fresher, your arms felt lighter. In the end, you were just some stupid kid who wanted to go home. “So let’s end it here.”

How could you face Beelzebub after that? You didn’t.

Instead, you nodded once to Satan before climbing up the steps, guided by the aroma of sweets towards a temporary heaven. You barely had your first bite before the best pastry chef in all three realms informed you of yet _another_ summons.

* * *

Sometimes, you thought, history _had_ to repeat itself because certain idiots couldn’t learn. You were one of them but boy, oh boy, you weren’t alone in this subset of idiocy.

Narrative distance made it easier to tell any story. Picture this, then: a human, seated before the diabolical overlord and his salty little servant. The human: wary, weary, worried. Wondered what will happen, now that everything was out in the open. Just those two, almost certainly because you had no pact with them.

You would’ve liked to give Barbatos the finger. He looked too smug for his own good.

“I will outline the spoken truths,” Diavolo began, rattling off dates and numbers. “You confessed to committing arson against the House of Lamentation—yes, with due circumstance, I am getting there—and have committed additional property damage to the Royal Academy of Diavolo. This was in accord with the Avatar of Sloth, who has attempted assault on all the Council.”

The chamber was unnaturally silent and you fought back your panic. He had been lying then. He was going to kill you, or make his minion do it so he could keep pretending his hands were clean.

“Many lives were endangered because of your actions, and the very roots of the exchange program and the Devildom laws were thrown into jeopardy.”

Diavolo paused. He let his eyes linger on your close-mouthed, sullen expression, and then concluded, speaking with the deliberation of absolute authority, “The Council has, however, acknowledged that you have conducted yourself with dignity so far, and in our last meeting, you have spoken freely without a single lie. Therefore, this is not an action I take lightly. I do not forget your past services to us and the Devildom, and all has been weighed with consideration.”

Weird. It’s like he almost meant those words.

“Upon the official end of the current program, you and all other exchange students will be returned to your respective home realms. You are aware of the date, I hope.” He recited it anyways; it was quite soon. “I will explain to your family and take it upon myself to resolve any conflicts that might’ve resulted in your prolonged absence.”

You gasped for a dizzying second, doubting your sanity. “You’re going up there?” What kind of conceivable explanation would satisfy your family, the police? TV reporters? Your head hurt to think of it. “What? How?”

“Please refrain from interrupting the Young Master,” Barbatos interjected smoothly. “He will explain all in due time.”

You scowled.

“As Barbatos said, everything is prepared. However, this will be fulfilled upon your agreement to the verdict.”

You waved your hands, giving him back the stage.

“Both you and Belphegor have failed to embody the essence of the exchange program, which was to foster understanding between one another to overcome our histories and create a new age. After the current exchange program is terminated, you will be tasked with assisting Belphegor as the next exchange student in the human world, for one year.”

_!_

“After one year, if the Council deems that he has fulfilled his role as an exchange student, he will be allowed to rejoin the Devildom as the seventh prince of the realm. And you,” his eyes locked wide, “will have all charges against you dismissed completely.”

“Along with a reasonable explanation for those who may have been affected during your time away from your realm, as mentioned,” Barbatos murmured.

“If not, then we will try you for each charge, and you will be returned home afterwards.”

How nice of them to keep _those_ details vague.

“Once we conclude this matter, it will be announced to the others shortly. We,” Diavolo entreated, “patiently await your decision.”


	19. Rudeassmotherfuckers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's normal to change what you want since you're always changing, too.  
> Maybe humans adapted so well because they're addicted to adapting.
> 
> "Not every day has to be about getting anything done," your friend said.  
> Then again, he was a perpetual stoner who aced exams without trying.
> 
> "Then what are those days about?"
> 
> "Resting. Or talking."
> 
> "You can talk just fine while getting shit done." You didn't look up from your textbook.
> 
> "Sure, sure. But sometimes it's nice to just talk and listen, yeah? Get all the right things said."
> 
> "You should be a philosopher. Not here, bugging someone who has two midterms tomorrow."
> 
> He tried talking to you several times, but you really needed to study. Eventually, he gave up and left you alone.
> 
> He wasn't that close of a friend so you only felt a vague disappointment when you later heard he transferred—rather abruptly—to some no-name university in his parents' homeland. A year later, he was married.
> 
> Why the fuck did he block you?

You’d grown up. Or rather Diavolo, ever the optimist, told himself it was growth when you finally accepted the terms he had strained to create, the best he could forge that could fulfill the demands of the Devildom laws, satisfy the nobility that would demand blood if justice wasn’t served, and protect you. You, whose livelihood would never be extricated from the magic and demons and witches of his world, bound to every last detail.

_Barbatos, humour me as you would when my lord father ruled as king. What reality do you foresee for the human child if their mind was wiped of all pain?_

_They may forget but our people will not. We gave their ancestor a salvation her Father denied, and she too lived a life in blissful oblivion. Is this what you will bestow unto them as you did her? Except now, my lord, there are too many who know their face._

In the end, what choice did you have? You’d probably get chucked into a prison worse than that demon’s if you refused. What you wanted was to get away from it all. But what you needed was to protect what was yours. It was unfair that you could only have one because then there was no choice.

But one year. That was what he promised. Yet you knew better than to trust a demon.

_Barbatos, indulge me like you did before I came of age. What reality will present if the human child is charged and tried within the realm that will be passed unto me? The human realm does not know of their existence to demand extradition._

_They will never forget it, Young Master. If somehow they can forgive and be convinced of the wisdom behind the decision, the other exchange students never will. They know the power they hold with their pacts. Confinement will stoke the streak of rebellion and end in tragedy. It will tear the avatars apart._

A nod equalled acceptance. It was settled, then. You would tend to your murderer for a year because you had destroyed his home and life wasn’t fair. And yet… and yet. Diavolo didn’t dismiss you and Barbatos made no move to escort you to the door.

You picked at the skin around your fingernails. Ripping off a flap of flesh, watching the red well with the familiar sting, thinking of the poem you had to memorize for some talent show in eighth grade. _Try not to scream as I tuck my broken darlings in my heart._

You knew who they were. “You wouldn’t want this to scar, try this cream! It works wonders!” Asmo would shake his head. “Don’t worry your father. He may not show it but to us, you will always be our little one.” Your mom would say.

You wanted to see them so badly, yet you couldn’t ask. You didn’t even realize your eyes were swimming until the first drop threatened to slide down your nose. Your cheeks burned—to cry so openly in front of these! You doubled forward, your hair covering the face you furiously swept over as you swallowed, and swallowed again.

_Barbatos, bring the second human exchange student forth. I will enact a sure judgement upon them for the good of my kingdom, and for the good of the people._

_Your word is law, highness._

Tears, like many other things, could be deferred but not denied. But not here. Might as well die than let it be here and now you could say that and mean it, too.

“Keep my people safe,” you spoke at last. To your disappointment, neither demon countered this with any bullshit excuse or pointing out the obvious: you had never been in any position to bargain. Maybe they pitied you.

He didn’t even ask why you kept repeating that. Did he know, then? How many promises he had made that lay broken around him? That you were placing faith in him, again, not because he deserved it, but because you had no choice?

You loathed this pretender who dared to speak to you with gentle firmness, a tone of apology. But your fury no longer rolled off in waves, passion smothered by an overwhelming lack of energy. You felt nauseous. You wanted to sleep everything off.

You relapsed into quiet. Which, you saw, disconcerted them. You would’ve liked that, once, to see them squirm. Now you were too tired to believe.

“I cannot blame you for hating me,” Diavolo said, voice low. “I realize it is your right. I don’t expect you to understand, especially not now—but this is for the best. I hope one day, you’ll see it is for everyone’s happiness, yours included.”

Because Barbatos was present, you answered Diavolo’s inane questions: a nod for _yes_ , a shake of the head for _no,_ a deadpan stare at the rug when neither sufficed. When Barbatos offered you a bandage for your aching finger, you hid your hands under your thighs.

“It will get infected,” he warned with the tiniest crease between his eyebrows. “Please, allow me.”

You did not allow. You didn’t even look. Barbatos, glimpsing his master’s expression, pressed no further.

Before you were led out, a document was presented and Diavolo told you to sign beneath your statement and his ruling sentence. Reading the human translation, you signed, last name and all, remembering the first document you had signed upon coming here, the one that had formalized your stay as an exchange student.

You said you never exchanged your soul for a pact, but here, you wondered if you had bartered slivers of it between the gaps of ink that defined your signature. Blood-red drops of ink; could be actual blood, didn’t care whose.

From the moment you put the pen down, you were a convicted juvenile (juvenile by Devildom standards) offender. There were no standard-issue jumpsuits; Barbatos didn’t even put any handcuffs on you. You’d think it’d go down like those legal dramas your brother never shut up about considering the demonic inclinations for histrionics. But nope: after the paperwork, that was that.

Nothing was left except to carry out the sentence… after announcing it to the world. Your sentence and his. You wouldn't put it past these dipshits to shove you into a double cell with that demon just to watch the cockfight unfold.

“Truly, I thank you,” Diavolo emphasized before you were two steps short of the door. “The circumstances are precarious, yet you have conducted yourself beyond admirably. I am sorry I doubted… I am sorry. It had to be you, after all. For this, you have my respect… and my solemn oath to see that you receive every benefit that our deal affords.”

You walked on.

No shackling chains but beside you walked a smiling terror that went by the name Barbatos. You could’ve demanded a better (or probably worse) escort but you were done being a spectacle. Whenever you felt like faltering, you thought of the brothers and the hurt that bound them to you.

“A moment, if you will?” He had stopped. You had expected to see a cell for solitary confinement, or a BDSM-esque dungeon. This was a familiar door, but that wasn't reassuring. Why his room?

Was he going to throw you into another dimension? You stood rigid. All that documentation just to yeet you into another time loop. Wasteful, therefore: unrealistic.

He laughed; he reminded you of Solomon but without the fun. “I have something to show that might be of interest.”

As interesting as it would be to see your dead body again, hard pass.

“It’s not as macabre as you might think.” he gestured inwards. “I think you’ll find the experience quite… enlightening.”

What was his deal?

“You have made no secret of your distaste towards my lord,” he replied to your unspoken question. “Yet, you admitted your faults. You heeded his advice. In light of your wisdom, a difference as minor as personal preference is tolerable.” You couldn’t read his face as he continued, “And I say this with nothing but the utmost sincerity… I hope that it remains just so: a preference,” he ushered you in, “nothing more.”

He waited until you looked up, and your eyes held, suspended with a breath that chilled you to your blood. You were too furious back then to realize how much you could lose.

“Yes,” you mumbled. Hard pill to swallow, knowing when you were beaten. It felt like burning. For their loved ones, people fought, died, sunk to the most despicable indignities to protect. This wasn’t so terrible by comparison, but Barbatos didn’t tell you that. Perspective would come later.

“Much of my time is devoted to serving Lord Diavolo,” he resumed with a lighter tone, one he might use with Luke. “And from both experience and my abilities, I guarantee you he will keep his word.”

You were done talking, but that didn’t mean you were done. His room was the same as you remembered, stairwells weaving into doors, some ajar, others padlocked. You had enough of an education in this academy to know sticking your nose through these portals of past and future was a stupid thing to do. But you were very good at being stupid.

“Please keep away from those.”

There must be countless realities swirling, awaiting actualization. Who were you and what name did you go by behind this dingy-looking door? What about the one with the golden latch? If you had such a powerful gift, would you let things drag as they were? You imagined undoing threads of time, becoming another person. You reached, almost blindly.

Wind ripped across your face, throwing something into your face? Dust, or grit; you tottered, groping for anything solid within reach. You almost crossed the threshold.

Funny word, ‘almost’. You almost escaped into a different reality—would it have been for the better? You almost negated your story. What was it like to be in someone else’s?

“No, no,” he murmured, moving a hand with sharp, angular movements; the door slammed shut. His other hand around you, the way your mother would jerk you back from puddles. “That is not for you.”

He looked almost kind. You jerked away, colour draining from your face.

“Lord Diavolo forbids me from using my gifts freely, but he also wishes for you to reintegrate. So… this is an acceptable loophole. What I am about to show you is a future you may accept or avoid.”

Before you could scream, a large pentagram floated above his palms that flattened to a disc-like shape made of liquid light, shimmering as if it were a living thing. Two translucent figures materialized, and with a jolt, you recognized yourself, a scowling projection stepping away from the other person… no, demon: Lucifer, all four wings unfurled.

Mesmerizing.

 _I am more than a name to be crossed off your list. I am the Avatar of Pride, the firstborn of the Infernal Seven in the Devildom. To simply be one of many under your belt is an insult. No… I won’t belong to you._ **_You will belong to me._ ** _So, then… will you still make a pact?_

Both versions of you looked at him like he just took off his pants and shat on the floor. _Yeah, uh, no. It was just a question. Never mind, then. I don’t want a pact with you._

He frowned, blocking escape as your effigy darted around Barbatos’ glowing stage. Pride accepted rejection… poorly. Knowing this didn’t stop your eyes from popping open when you heard ghost-Lucifer’s next words echo:

_How unfortunate for you. Because it’s too late now._

_What even—_

_As of this moment, you are_ ** _mine._** A miniature sigil glowed, and ghost-you screamed as the pact branded into itself.

That was too much. Your hand moved of its own accord, slashing through this iniquity. The spell, dismissed, illuminated its caster’s intrigued face before fizzling with a hiss.

“Ridiculous,” you hissed. You owed this son of a bitch nothing, least of all this. But why would Barbatos show you this? Didn’t these demons _want_ to keep you under their thumb? Was he gloating?

“One of many outcomes,” Barbatos steered you into a chair. You were too stunned to resist, but shock wore off like a catalyst into a growing torrent. “What could be is not what must be. Remember that. It does not have to go this way.”

You didn’t understand why he was talking to you in such a low voice, obviously meant to soothe. Until he offered you a black handkerchief embroidered in gold.

“Ah… ha ha…” You wanted to swat it away, but your hands were unsteady and everything was muddled.

You gave up trying to sound coherent, vaguely thinking how this would be an embarrassing memory in the future. Every crushing impulse demanded discharge, and now you would let them flow as freely as they wanted. If it annoyed Barbatos, even better. You collapsed out of your chair and onto your knees, screaming. The ripping in your chest only propelled you to scream louder as the storm streamed from your face.

You no longer cared about how disgusting you surely looked as you bawled. What use was dignity when none gave a shit? Thoughts mixed until you forgot what you were sobbing about in the first place. You just cried as you buried your face in your arms so you didn’t have to see or hear everyone laugh.

The last part was, of course, your imagination. Barbatos did not laugh at all. When his handkerchief proved insufficient for the deluge, he took out another. Then another. Finally, he pulled out his D.D.D. and held it to his ear.

It was an ugly cry, and you cried heartily. _Crying won’t fix anything._ That’s why you did; you were done fixing. As if to prove this, your breakdown took on a level of frenzy. If you cried long enough, which eyeball would pop out first?

A keening rattled out of your mouth when you were pulled into a frantic set of arms. Hazily, you saw ungloved hands prying your arm off your face. You wriggled, so he instead pulled you to his chest. It was warm with the scent of flowers. Somehow you were certain Barbatos didn’t smell like that and your thrashing slowed.

You were lifted, head snugly tucked under a pointed chin. When was the last time you had felt so held? To be carried and scream and have no one tell you how pointless it was?

“Pleased with yourself?” He turned his head with a frozen rage, enunciating every word with foreboding.

“It was a needed measure,” Barbatos regarded a loose strand of hair on your shoulder, checked himself in time; to tuck it away risked losing his hand to the irate Avatar of Lust. “Now that the pain is no longer hidden, I entrust to you the sweeter parts of tending to our student.” A strange look passed between these two who shared so little in common.

You were still in a fit, accompanied by much coughing and gasping. It scalded as it relieved with each volley of sobs choking out of your lungs. You were a squalling red hatchling with dripping nose and blotchy cheeks.

You didn’t hear what else was said as he tightened his hold. The voices were dismissive and sharp. Then he was walking, you still in his arms. Then it couldn’t be Asmo. He only held beautiful things.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered. Sympathy wasn’t so bad this time.

Had you known it, he was revelling, a racing thrumming through his chest. The last embrace he shared with you was too cold, too silent, and he had been racked with tears of his own. For whatever reason, Barbatos had called upon him to cradle this snivelling creature who broke and mended his heart on a whim.

“I’ll take my leave,” Barbatos bowed once the three were out of his room, then headed towards his master’s study. He didn’t need to look back to know Asmodeus would use it well, this golden honour to play the saving knight.

Later, you would think it over. Realize that such a vision was an act of kindness. Few who had pacts forced upon found happiness, less so when it came to the original sin. Barbatos dipped his head, mulled on some obscure thought that was not so indifferent as he once believed, shook his head. He had other duties.

You felt the softness of a bed and more tissues. He did not tell you to hush. Passion fared poorly when stifled.

At the pinnacle of the hysterics, it felt like the end of the world. But it ran its course as it should, the way most things did. Eventually you calmed, your frantic wails silenced altogether when your vocal cords rebelled against the excess. Your eyes were swollen shut, having wrung every drop of bottled frustration and grief you could muster. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, darling,” he said when you raised your head.

You tried to speak. It came out a chainsmoker’s croak. Could give your grandfather a run for his money. Your sleeves were sodden and everything chest up ached.

It took several tries, but you managed to sit up. Everything was stiff. Your vision swam with blobs of light. A wet cloth dabbed your cheeks, and after that, a cold compress against your inflamed eyelids, working wonders on your general fuckedupedness.

Your breaths evened. Your forehead unknotted, softened. You leaned into the palm when cool fingers grazed your face.

The compress prevented you from seeing Asmodeus swoon, his heart bursting into flight as he felt your pulse in his hand. His own eyes watered, and he’d have pulled you into a tight embrace if he didn’t fear explosive rejection. He didn’t want that, to have this tenuous connection to you so severed. He had seen Belphegor; it was not a happy sight.

Your eyes opened slowly when he removed the compress. There was still a pinkish tinge ringed around them, but you were calmed for now… the meltdown was behind you.

“It’s me, dearest,” he clarified when you stared in blank confusion. He shifted, and when he withdrew his hand, soft cloth was bandaged around your finger.

The garbling noise you made sorta sounded like his name. He’d take it a thousand times over a mangled corpse. “The one and only,” he smiled with intentional cheer as he continued to talk in hushed soft tones. You didn’t flinch when he touched your hair, which lifted his spirits with a strange joy. “You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”

Your face was numb and icy to the touch. But perhaps you could unwind, release. Huh. Now that you thought about it, have you slept since this madness? You couldn’t remember. Would he brush your hair again? You never told him how nice it felt.

Your shirt was moist, clung to your skin; you yanked at the hem. Asmo, understanding, reached out to pull it over your head. The salt water stains would be hard to clean.

“Asmo!” The door burst open, a pissed Leviathan stalking in. “You actually _ditched?_ You think just because you got the pick of the gene pool means you pull a _Mammon_ and make _me_ clean up for—not—not—”

And thus the rest of his words were squelched. How could they not? Here was the brother who bested him in charm, looks, and seeing him undress you on his bed… rancour ignited into a scowl. “You just have to have everything.”

Asmo raised his arms to appease. “Trust me, if it was what it looked like then we’d be looking a lot happier, Levi.”

Levi shook his head in disgust. “I know how this goes. Of course out of us, you’d be the first to pull all the moves.” His hands balled into fists, eyes flashing with resentful desire. It took effort to not lose sight of the truth: he was the first to threaten your life. And he knew, instinctively, that you remembered clearly.

It was still bloody unfair.

You didn’t want to butt into the brothers’ standoff and you desperately needed to stretch; might as well start now. Linking your fingers, you pushed your elbows together behind your back. Then a few shoulder rolls to loosen them up. You’d think your joints were replaced with puffed rice from the obnoxious sounds they were making. _Pop-pop-pop._

Your chin tilted upwards and you felt the pressure easing off your body. Rolling back, then to the left. Easier to stretch without a wet shirt getting in the way.

_“What do you think you’re doing?!”_

“Levi, no!”

Asmo’s face paling with horror was nothing compared to Leviathan, who noticed first and lunged. He knew you utterly despised him, could offer you nothing better… but he **would not** lose you. That was worse than losing you to his other brothers. “Don’t leave us again!” he begged as he tackled you to the bed. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! I’ll apologize! I’ll do anything! But I won’t let this happen! Don’t do this! So, please, please, please—OUCH!”

All you heard was warbled shouting as you found yourself flat on your back. When you unscrambled enough of your disorientation to form a knee-jerk reaction—but Levi was heavy and your knee was locked. So you bucked the next body part he hadn’t yet pinned: your head slammed into his.

Then everything was littered with stars, but you weren’t done. Your adrenaline-fuelled elbows and knees swung indiscriminately, stirring squeals of pain.

“Dammit! Ow! I’m sorry!” Leviathan yelped.

Your hand soared down, slapping him square in the face, an involuntary growl escaping his lips. Asmo, who hated tussling, ripped off his beloved scarf before plunging in.

“Levi, don’t hurt them!” he warned as he tried to pull you away. “They don’t understand!”

“I’m _not!_ Don’t you transform, either! _But why is this happening?”_

All you could see were flashes of light and all you could feel was a massive headache coupled with the animalistic, demented panic to be free and fight back.

Now, two demons struggling against bursting into their true forms whilst wrangling a deranged you went crazier than a sack of wet cats. Somehow, after narrowly avoiding a rake of your nails, Asmodeus seized you by the shoulders with a calmness he did not feel and forced you off a twitching Levi.

“Gently, breathe,” he murmured soothingly into your ear. As feral as you were, he was quicker and using a sizable amount of force to keep you gathered to his bosom. “This racket will only attract Lord Diavolo _and_ Lucifer, and that’ll put a damper on our evening, don’t you think? We hardly got started. Just us three. Only us. We are yours, dearest.”

You’d destroy yourself but they wouldn’t let you. Why would they do this, you wondered, as one held you like you would fall apart, the other crying semi-coherent apologies, pleading you to not do it again. Do what, exactly? What fuck-up did you do this time to disturb them so?

All you wanted was to stretch your neck. Damn thing was too stiff. When the spinning in your head finally blacked over your eyes, you didn’t resist.

* * *

“Levi.”

“What.”

“If you were really afraid of… you should’ve gone for the mouth.”

“Look, I—”

“They don’t know how to activate a pact nonverbally. Solomon said so.”

“…”

“Levi?”

“When the Lord of Flies tried to keep the Lord of Fools from uttering the Fatal Spell of Crows in Volume 69, he knocked out half his teeth with one swing.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Humans are so fragile, aren’t they?”

Levi didn’t respond to that, drew his chair closer to the bed where your chest rose and fell. He had brought his handheld console, but couldn’t get past a single level. He watched you instead with a fevered intensity like you might forget to breathe if he looked away.

An irritated sigh. “Levi, you’re really ruining the moment by being here.”

“Fine. You want me to call over Mammon instead and tell him who _you’re_ with, on _your_ bed, while they’re utterly helpless to whatever _you’re_ scheming, be my guest. I’ll send a quick text to Lucifer, too.”

“Keep your voice down!” Asmo hissed. “You _want_ our brothers to kill us?”

“Pfft, ‘us’? They’ll just kill you. Not me. Or them.”

The last sentence was a sobering thought, enough to suspend their bickering. Both watched you slumber without sound or change; Asmo from where he lay beside your right, Levi from his stool drawn beside your left. Was this what the Lord of Shadow felt when watching over Henry after rescuing him from the Lord of Masks? Your steady heartbeat being the only reassurance that kept this night from becoming a horror?

“Hey, Levi.”

“I’m not leaving them with you, Asmo,” he whispered, snappish. “I’m an otaku shut-in, not a drooling moron.”

“Yes, yes,” Asmo surrendered with a sigh. “Anyhow, are you going to be sitting all night? Come join, my bed’s big enough for three.”

“Get into bed with you? With them?!” His face grew warm. “What kind of normie nonsense…!”

“Suit yourself, then,” Asmo giggled. “Guess I’ll go to sleep, too, with my dear big brother watching over the both of us.”

“Not that they’d want me here if they knew,” Levi muttered.

“How’s your nose? They hit you pretty hard.”

“They did. I never got a nosebleed this way… I mean… forget what I said! But… yeah.” He sniffed, then shivered. “If they used my pact, I think…”

“But they didn’t,” Asmo resumed playing with your hair, his fingers threading through with long, languid strokes. “That ought to count for something.”

“What am I even doing here?” Levi flopped forward. “I tried to… this is why I can’t,” he sighed, his voice hardening to a dull flat, “I’m not meant for the world of normies, not like you. Fictional characters don’t hurt like this.”

“Maybe,” Asmo reached over, flicked his forehead lightly. “But you’re real. Like them.”

Levi shut his eyes. His arms were folded upon the bed, nestling his face. Asmo had extinguished the last of the candles and the sky outside the window was burnt black. Yet Asmo’s eyes sparkled, unblinking upon his brother’s form. His fingers traced from your eyebrows to the jawline.

“Do you remember when all of us slept together waiting for Lucifer to come back?” Asmo asked.

“I remember. Mammon was crying so hard,” Leviathan said at last. He too had cried, but he didn’t say that.

“I was so worried. It seemed like such a dangerous mission Father had sent him to. All of us hardly fit on that bed but no one wanted to be alone. Lilith hogged the middle. You fell asleep on her feet!”

“Beel kept tossing and kicking. At least _I_ was still on the bed when Michael found us.” Leviathan laughed quietly, and Asmo joined in.

“At least you slept. I kept getting pushed before I gave up and took the floor! No matter how much I explained, Belphie wanted to sleep beside Beel and Lilith _and_ me! Like how…”

Sobered by the mention of Belphegor, their laughter died. Leviathan raised his head, unable to answer the tacit question: what would happen to them? His eyes drifted to you, your lines of stress smoothed out, replenishing energy for another day, another battle. 

“No one’s going to kick you off the bed this time.” The breath of his words sent a flutter through your eyelashes. Asmo waited.

“Don’t think I won’t keep an eye on you.” Levi coughed. “They’d hate me. That is, they’d hate me even more. If it’s possible.” 

“Not enough to die,” Asmo murmured, “not enough to kill.”

He snorted. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one getting KO’d.”

“That’s because I bruise like a Forbidden Peach. My skin is delicate.”

“So my skin isn’t even skin?” he grumbled. “Figures.”

“You have scales.”

“Not on my face!”

“But you still have them!”

“You have a lot more than I ever will, Asmo!” Envy reared its head. “Don’t pretend it’s fair!”

“Lordy,” you rumbled, “can’t even let me sleep.”

Taking advantage of their alarmed silence, you cleared your throat. Your forehead didn’t throb this bad till the sixth drink. “What’s…” you winced; the needle-like pain in your throat was dulled by sleep, but still present. “What’s on my head?”

“A cold pack made with essence of the Ninth Circle and Witch Hazel. It helps with the swelling.”

“Oh.”

“We didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft pressure on your temple, light as a butterfly. “Go back to sleep.”

You groaned, but moving and thinking were bearable. The respite, however brief, helped you make the necessary allowances for you to… come to terms. Ha. What an expression. You saw them watch you, awaiting your next crisis. “I can’t,” you muttered.

“Why not?” Levi asked.

It wasn’t so dark once your eyes adjusted. That was humanity for you: adjust or die. Break or bend. Both if you felt spicy. _One day, this pain will make sense to you._ Needed someone to knock some sense into you. Demons barely knew how to knock. “Neck’s stiff.”

“Would a massage help?” Asmo worked to keep his voice light and easy. Despite this, both demons flinched when you cracked your neck. Levi dug his fingers into the sheets.

“I don’t know.” You only saw the glow of their eyes, orange and pink and yellow bleeding into the closest thing you’d see to a sunset in the Devildom. “You can keep talking. Hopefully it’ll help.”

“Help with what?”

You gave a slow shake of the head. Cold seeped from the pack, crept up your fingers. “I don’t know,” you repeated. “How…” you licked your lips, tried to _not_ sound like an asthmatic, “how are you?”

“I got fragged,” Levi mumbled. “Wait… were you talking to Asmo?”

“Both.” Duh. “I think I hit both of you. Or one?”

“Oh, you did us both.” Asmo giggled a bit at the double entendre. “We’re fine.”

“So, what did I do?”

“Well, we thought… guess it doesn’t matter now,” Leviathan mumbled, thankful that you couldn’t see his face become a bright scarlet. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just go.”

“Just tell me,” you snapped, done with the bush-beating.

He tried to slink away, but when you commanded like that, he had to speak; shout, more like. “I thought you were trying to die again!”

Now you were awake enough to see the misery they must’ve been holding back. Even Asmo, whom you had relied on to be the last one smiling… wasn’t.

“Well, I wasn’t,” you retorted, devoid of bite. “So you don’t have to keep me under suicide watch, all right?”

Asmo flicked a switch, and a small lamp flickered to life. If only your words could sound as bright, given their flippancy.

“Do you want us to leave you alone?” Levi’s voice almost broke on the last word. Grieving, but unsurprised.

“What I want…” You dragged the cold pack down so that it covered your eyes.

“What _do_ you want?” he almost begged.

“Please, tell us,” Asmo breathed into your ear.

“I want…” You breathed shallowly. They couldn’t see your face but it didn’t matter. “I want to stop hurting.”

“Oh, darling.”

“I want my mom and dad. I want to watch Mammon and Leviathan argue. I want to bake with Luke. I want to see Satan bitch at Lucifer with Asmo making everyone laugh while Beel eats everything. I want my friends,” you croaked. “I want everyone I care about to be in one place. Everything else can—”

Not knowing where to look, Leviathan gazed down at his hands. Thought of when he, too, lived in such a paradise like the one you wanted. The one he—any of them—couldn’t give. Such old lifetimes didn’t come back.

So Leviathan, who hated seeing you so sad and despised himself for being inarticulate, took your hand, hoping you wouldn’t snatch it away. “That’s impossible.”

You laughed, or maybe moaned. “I know that.”

“But probably…” he reddened, words spouting from a trickle to a rush as he tried to say everything while he still had the nerve, “you could still use a—I mean, if you still always need a… a friend, although that friend might be a demon, even in this situation that doesn’t matter… dammit!” So much for quoting _Knight of the Labyrinth_. He wanted to crawl into a mousehole. He squeaked:

“Can we try to be friends again? Like… start over? I’ll… I’ll do my best!”

 **_Let’s be friends?_ ** _Seriously? What are you, five?_

He had been petty when he had said that. Now it was his turn to ask such a lame question and brace for whatever came after.

Your voice dulled. “And if I win something else?”

A lump formed in his throat. But then he realized that in your dream of everyone together, he was part of it. “Then… gg. That’s it.”

“Gee-gee?” Asmo furrowed his brows.

“Good game,” Levi explained. You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t pull away, either. He’d take anything and everything that counted for something hereon.

You shifted towards the lamp until Asmo, noticing, turned it off. Shadows were easier for thoughts and words to fall into. You didn’t say anything more as you willed yourself to go back to sleep. Levi remained in his seat, floundering on what to do before he reached a decision: when you let go, he’d leave.

Not for the first time, Asmo watched you with longing, wondering what it would take to work his charm on you. Then, under his spell, he could crush the parts that caused you such grief, leaving nothing but love and pure bliss behind. But then, he supposed, you wouldn’t be here nestled under his blankets. Your outpouring for his consolation, raw anguish for fierce, protective tenderness. An exchange too personal and unbefitting of your respective roles, but still real.

After presenting a shard of yourself he was certain you’d never want to show their other brothers, how could he not hold you closer?

“Are you warm, dear?” he whispered after a while.

You muffled something, then sneezed. Spoke again. “Asmo. You’re awake.”

“Hm… maybe?” A brush against your forehead indicated a large lump. “What, leaving already? I hope not.”

“Well,” you began. Then you remembered. “Levi. You’re going to sit here…?” For how long?

Oh, that’s what you were concerned about. Asmo huffed. “He won’t join us. Say something to him, he’ll listen to you.”

“I’m fine!” he hissed. “Really!”

The part of your hand sticking out the covers not encompassed by Levi’s hand wasn’t. So you sighed and pulled. “Better than a chair. Get over here.”

“I’ve slept in my chair before—hey!” With an undignified screech, he landed in a mottled heap, sandwiched between you and his brother. “W-what gives?”

“No fair! Why are you hogging them all to yourself, Levi?” Asmo pouted. The moment was reminiscent of the overused _oh no there is only one bed for the both of us and it totally won’t be used as a fluff bonding trope_ but he was warmed and exultant: you wanted him to stay. You wanted him.

“You’re… sure it’s okay? For me to be here?” His hands—his entire body—hovered.

“Yes.” You had released his hand to reorient the blanket.

“But why?” What would he hear? A tsundere proclamation of forgiveness? A confession? His heart throbbed with anticipation.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Then you can say it since it’s not,” Asmo chirped.

Hmph. You rolled to your side, wincing as your sore muscles protested the movement. “Asmo’s boner kept poking me.” Adding as an afterthought: “Have fun, Levi.”

* * *

It took awhile for them to shut up, but they eventually lay sprawled out on the bed, snoring away. You had half a mind to take a picture of them sleeping so peacefully together… and you had no phone. No surprise there. You weren’t sure if you could close the door without waking them up so you left it open; you had barely slept.

Calm, numb, and exhausted of all emotion, you walked, indifferent to the demon courtiers that gawked as they scurried by. You hurried before they decided to talk to you. Somehow you managed to make it back.

“Where have you been?” Luke demanded. “We waited… whoa!” He squirmed, almost dropping his oven mitts. “My apron isn't clean!”

You didn’t care, but you let go before he could get too frightened. “Just let me rest my eyes for a bit. Then I’ll… eat everything.” You tottered towards an empty bed with the freshly tucked-in sheets, fell face-first. “Ten minutes… shouldn’t take very long…”

Before you drifted, you felt a small hand on your forehead. You wanted to tell him that you stopped getting fevers after middle school. No one believed it, but it was true.

You dreamt of the lilies your grandma grew in her veranda the summer before she died. But not of her.

* * *

“You wake at last,” Simeon said, beaming. “Would you like some water?”

As you sipped, he talked. Luke wove in and out, adding his own thread to the conversation here and there with a loaded tray. You decided cream puffs were an excellent breakfast option. Solomon didn’t think so, but he wasn’t a cream puff connoisseur so that was that.

“Don’t you guys have class?” A beat. “Don’t _I_ have class?”

Solomon chuckled. “Would you go if you did?”

“But you guys are the good students.”

Simeon laughed. “Exam season is near. Classes are wrapping up. Regardless, we would still be here.”

“You’re one of us!” Luke summarized.

As exchange students, sure. But the three found untainted good out of this school program. Knowledge they’d use, experience relevant to their lives and their peers, honed magical talents; Devildom History and Culture meant nothing to the university assignments waiting for you back home.

You didn’t want to wear the uniform but it was all there was in the closet. You’d have continued strutting in your undershirt if it wasn’t so cold.

“Ready to go?” Simeon asked when you stepped out of the bathroom.

No, you wanted to say. But maybe, just maybe, if you grit your teeth and endured one last time, everything would fall away and you could breathe in a place where you wouldn’t be threatened or cajoled ever again. At the very least, a coffee break. A real one.

You would’ve liked to make a sarcastic comment, but Luke was worried and showed despite his efforts. Biting back your tongue would hardly be the biggest sacrifice you’d make when Diavolo gathered everyone before him to announce your punishment. You fared poorly with Devildom interventions, but you’d try, for him. It was stronger than trying for yourself.

You gave up halfway on the necktie and prepared to go through it all again.

* * *

Everyone was seated, including the demon whose company you had to figure out how to tolerate for one year without him deciding this bureaucratic bullshit wasn’t worth it and killing you. Assuming that you didn’t break him first.

As though Diavolo has learned something as well, he didn’t waste words this time around. A brisk recount of the convicted offences and indictments—yours _and_ his—Luke scowled and reached to squeeze your hand. You fought the urge to laugh when Diavolo said, almost word for word, that Belphegor has since shown great remorse.

You stood, concentrating on holding your head high. The drivel coming out of Diavolo’s mouth was predictable, and you have the vague satisfaction of seeing seven pairs of eyes pop open when he finally announces the judgement that would serve as penance for the both of you.

Okay, eight. Luke was about to convulse over here.

Then what he said next broke the lethargy you had been amassing, because it was news to you, too. “As they have stayed in the House of Lamentation, this new installment of the exchange program will have Belphegor staying in their residence. Of course, the appropriate adjustments for accommodations will be made.”

Your response, the first one you had given since this assembly, was automatic, bristling. “No.”

In the blink of an eye, Lucifer was behind you, tense. But he didn’t take a step further to restrict your movement or speech. With one word from the weakest being in the room, the meeting turned into a standoff. Simeon was behind your back; you couldn’t see him keeping Lucifer at bay armed with nothing but a blinding smile.

Diavolo spoke your full name with a chiding voice. “You have agreed to this.”

This bastard did **not** have the privilege to call you by your middle name, even in passing. This time it froze instead of burning. Maybe it was the image of your family, vulnerable to a demon whose loathing for your kind was lethal as it was unjustified. That no amount of flying and stars and pillow fights would brainwash you into fitting yourself into his godawful ambition of involving more of Lilith’s mistakes. You were enough. God, let it be enough.

“I agreed to babysit a demon that hates humans, in a world full of humans, where he’ll be going to my human school.” The words dropped like ice pellets, crisp and shattering. A wolf among lambs and you’d be damned if you couldn’t control the pen size. “Housing _that_ under my roof is **not** up for negotiation.”

“Forgive me, but your current standing is disadvantageous for… unprecedented requests.”

“I have given you my word that your family will remain safe. With the necessary precautions, your kindred will be under no peril,” Diavolo supplemented his butler’s statement. “Rather, there are many benefits to this arrangement.”

You scratched your neck. Mammon’s hands were gripping the edges of his seat. Leviathan was grinding his teeth in anxiety. You had time. Slowly, you turned to face Lucifer who towered over you, less than three feet away. Waiting. Watching. You shook off Solomon’s hand.

“My family can live without those ‘benefits’, thanks.” Your hand stayed on the back of your throat. You’d make an appointment with your chiropractor when this was over. You faced Diavolo. “I don’t care what housing option you decide. Use the dorms, or make a shiny new prison for him, whatever. But my house is not offering any homestays for demons stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds them.”

You waited for them to continue pressuring you. Oh, you’d fight back. Let them learn that Lucifer wasn’t the only one capable of fighting a king to defend their family.

“Diavolo,” Lucifer spoke. “They have a point.”

He paused at that. “Lucifer, consider—”

“I have.” A brief nod when you stared at him, transfixed. “Diavolo. I will assist you with these details concerning this extended program. But…” he collected his thoughts, cleared his throat once before resuming, “This is also a family matter. Let my own be the last to pay the price.”

Your heart sank. Diavolo’s opinions were Lucifer’s laws. If he stepped out of line, he did it for his family. That was the _only_ time he proved disobedient to his superiors. Fine. You’d tend to your own, too. Still, you felt a very faint gratefulness.

Even if this was all orchestrated.

Making up his mind, he smiled at Lucifer and you. “Very well. Perhaps I was too headlong with this detail. You and Belphegor will live separately during this exchange.” The fleeting look of relief on your face was enough, though the edge of reproach never fully left your eyes.

You sat back down, and after that, there were no more surprises. Lucifer didn’t move from his position until all of his brothers had signed the contract, consenting to this singularly bizarre arrangement, albeit after throwing barrages of questions.

“Will Belphie be allowed to visit?”

“No, he will not return until his program is complete… or suspended by misconduct.” You thought you saw Barbatos lick his lips at _misconduct_ , but you blinked and all you saw was a close-lipped smile. “Depending on his progress, he will be allowed to have select visitors on a semi-regular basis once he has adjusted.”

“What about food? Will he corrupt human souls?”

“He is going as an exchange student, not summoned as a demon. He will not make any pacts that cause great harm to the human world, nor will he devour humans unprovoked. As this is a cultural exchange as well as educational, he will be eating food from the realm he is in.”

“Luke,” Solomon whispered. “Hush. They have made their decision.”

“Says who?” Luke seethed. “Them? Him?” He raged in disbelief. “Why?”

Simeon looked to you for help. In three strides you made it over, fell to your knees before the shaking angel. Grasped his cufflinks, twirled them in your fingers.

“Why?” he pleaded. “Are they forcing you? What if it’s a trap?”

“Shh.” You tried to hug him, but he backed away. You let your arms drop.

“He’ll kill you. Please. Don’t do this.” He looked with dying hope, searching for the telltale spark in your eye that defied the odds thrust against you. That you’d fight back like you always did with invincible will. “Tell them you won’t!”

“And if I don’t, what will happen to those I care about?” The ice left your voice but the steel remained. “What will happen to you, Luke? Simeon, and Solomon, for helping me escape? What about Michael waiting for you back up there?”

He couldn’t say anything to that.

“Who will take care of them if not you?” You raised a hand again, encircling his shoulder. “Who will take care of mine if not me?” You willed him to understand. “Think like a guardian, Luke. Think like an angel.”

You felt him deflate. Then the tiniest whisper: “It’s not fair.”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “It is fair, you’ll see. Don’t be sad.” You patted him on the head, gently pushed him towards Simeon. “I’ll take care of things here on out.” You smiled, even towards Solomon. “Just… keep an eye on me if I get too quiet.” Childishly, you added, “Don’t forget me.”

He tried to say something, but Lucifer was already showing them the door and you caught the glint of Simeon’s cape before the _click_ of a lock sliding into place. Time to make good on your word… and see this through.

If only there was an instruction manual for babysitting a demon on his exchange program for you to blatantly ignore.

You read somewhere that pointing was rude because back in the days it was considered an act of witchcraft, that you were casting a spell on someone. You weren’t sure you could cast a spell without Solomon’s stick but you could definitely be rude. Even being rude had to be within limits—as long as they knew you knew who was in charge.

“Is this true? Are you really… with him?” Mammon, at least, no longer had immediate qualms on holding you by the arms. “Are you serious?”

“This is unbelievable!” Leviathan repeated, trying and failing to wrap his head around it. “Unbelievable! The plot twist of plot twists!”

Satan shook his head, wisely choosing to remain silent. A wordless glance passed between him and his favourite brother; already they were thinking upon preparations, measures to help, not hinder. Collective thinking didn’t last long, especially among immortal beings with inborn gifts for destructive, self-indulgent tendencies.

“Given these mitigating circumstances, you are confined to the walls of this castle until the term is over. The brothers will take turns keeping track of your coursework. I have already spoken to your professors and all of them are more than willing to cut you a break.”

Gee.

“This is so hard to believe…”

“I don’t know what to say. This is…” Even Asmo was having a hard time coming up with the right word.

Mammon’s hands closed a fraction tighter when he saw who you were looking at. But he didn’t stop you when you moved, never a step farther away than he had to be.

Once everything was hammered down, Diavolo knew better than to linger. “I imagine you all have much to say to each other. Belphegor will be confined to his chair until he is ready to be escorted back. As for you…” he regarded you with a tentative appraisal, “…I respect that your opinion of me may never change. In turn, I ask that you refrain from further violence.” He assumed the air of fatherly sternness. “This applies to everyone present.”

You resisted the impulse to say something vicious.

“Take all the time you need. When you are done, Lucifer, please stop by my office regarding the conclusion of Diaval’s exchange.” The door closed behind him and Barbatos.

It was hard to see from a distance, but you grit your teeth and forced yourself to step closer. He couldn’t move, you reminded yourself. Up close, you could see the vibration of magic, binding with faintly glowing spellwork that kept him in place. The air grew thick in your mouth, you had to force it down.

What the hell were you supposed to say to him now? There was too much at stake to walk away.

_Let’s do our best! This arrangement sucks for both of us, might as well keep it as pleasant as we can._

_I’ll never forget that you broke my neck and probably played with my spine like a xylophone, you fuckface._

Something in the middle: “You must hate this. Almost as much as I do.”

The brothers quieted; they too were waiting for what he’d say in return. Just when you assumed he took some vow of silence (good, because then you had a legitimate excuse to stay as far away as possible in all realms), he raised his head.

“I guess… I’m more surprised that you accepted this.”

He wasn’t agitated like before, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes as he slouched with an air of penitent resignation. Granted, it wasn’t his first time being a prisoner, so it could be feigned. “Your boss was persuasive.”

He grunted, his features twisting into hate. “Bah.”

You crossed your arms over your ribs. “You could still screw him over. Before he realizes I’m more trouble alive than dead and finishes the job himself.”

“You stop that.”

You raised an eyebrow, both at the unexpected backbone in his voice and the glower in his eyes as he faced you fully for the first time today. But he was finally pushing back, and your mean streak cackled as you replied,

_“Then make me.”_

Mammon whistled; everyone was looking at anything except you and Belphegor. Well, almost everyone. Beelzebub wedged him in between the two of you. A thin voice from the tallest, biggest brother. “Don’t. No more.”

Just as easily, your streak dried. But the resentment didn’t. Fine. You began to turn on your heel when you heard him speak again. “Beel, move.”

“Belphie, please—”

“Beel.” Lucifer’s voice. “Do as he asks.”

He didn’t really _ask_.

“Know this, human,” Belphegor spoke when he could see you without obstruction. “Whatever you thought when accepting this deal doesn’t matter to me. But I will not be baited into making the same mistake twice.” He sat on his chair like it was a throne. “I’m tired of this. If you want the easy way out, do it yourself.”

“Why should I when all I have to do is to step outside and walk into an alley?”

“Then why did you even come back?” he quipped. “As a joke? You didn’t seem the type to treat human life as lightly as that. You’re not _that_ much of a demon, even you. If it’s death you really want, piss off any of us with working limbs. Satan over there is closest to you.”

“Leave me out of this,” Satan snapped, pale.

“Well?” Belphegor appraised. “Do it. Or just use your pacts.”

“Shut up,” Mammon growled, inwardly thankful when Lucifer assumed a nearer position towards you, the sole demon who couldn't be controlled.

How glad you were that Luke wasn’t here to witness who you really were. “Don’t compare yourself to them. They’re better than you.”

“Really? What about when Lucifer nearly killed you? Or Levi? The only difference is they had someone to hold them back.” So he could burn, too.

“You lied!”

“You’re trying to make me angry!”

“You gave me every reason to be!”

Lucifer broke the impasse. “All of you, stay with him.” He grabbed your hand, not painfully. With half-hearted resistance, you followed. One year of this. One second to slip up. Seven lifetimes to regret. None of them your own.

He led you to a vacant kitchenette and seated you on a chair. You sat, desperate and miserable, as he tinkered at the counter before returning with a cup of the Devildom version of coffee. You grew quieter with each sip, still retaining enough of yourself to feel ashamed. You heard the words in your head, in his voice, with his condescending rationality: _This cannot continue. You will be at each other’s throats before it begins. Do not waste this chance Diavolo has given…_

“This is coffee?” you blurted. “It’s so bitter—”

You stopped mid-sentence as you looked up from your cup, letting out a gasp. Close-up, Lucifer’s face was a haggard grey, careworn as he sat crookedly in the chair, allowing the back and sides to support in full. You put the cup down, slid it over to him. “You need it more than me.”

“It’s all right,” he slid it back into your hands. “Fixing a drink hardly compares to the grace you continue to show my family.”

He caught your expression. “I mean it.”

You sipped, trying to script what he, or you, would say next. Nothing on pacts. You’d scream this castle down if he did.

“A portion of Belphegor’s temper is reserved for someone else. I suggest you don’t take it to heart.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you snorted before you could stop yourself. “Mammon should run a betting pool, see who breaks first.”

“If that happens, it will happen at the same time.”

You couldn’t help it. “That sure?”

“If you attack him with the intent to kill, he will be forced to defend himself. This brings the second: if he attacks you, the blood curse will activate and immediately carry out his… alternate sentence. All seven of us will sense it, as brothers.”

Huh. Blood curse. Cool name, at least. You didn’t ask him about the alternate but if the word ‘blood’ was involved you could guess. He was saying, “…and though the spell is dormant, it requires prolonged casting, with lingering and uncomfortable after-effects. A strong magic. But I hope it won’t come to it. It is a last resort to protect the both of you.”

You beat back the wave of guilt when he paused, giving you one of those looks where the unsaid spoke louder. But then you thought of the details in realities that would never come true. “Did Diavolo cast it?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “I did.”

* * *

Everyone still had class. At least three avatars had to oversee the reconstruction. You still had a paper to write about your hot mess of an exchange program.

Time, which had raced to escape your perception when you were preoccupied—and there were no shortage of distractions—slowed to a crawl when you thought of sunlight and night drives and then the tomorrows wouldn’t come fast enough.

The perpetual darkness that extended across the Devildom helped bleed the days and nights together in your mind. Diavolo said you were confined to his castle so you wandered, hallway to hallway. Some doors were locked, but if one wasn’t, that was an invitation you took with the same impunity that the demons had taken everything else.

Whenever you came back to your room, it was cleaned and a tray on the table, the food clearly made by experienced kitchen staff. You preferred this over facing everyone over tea and cakes.

Sometimes they visited, or you wandered to their rooms when it just so happened that the doors were unlocked and they were present. They never turned you away (because you never stayed for long) and you never told them to get out when they barged in (because they were afraid of losing, too).

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Satan gave you spare textbooks and reference scrolls, and if you really asked, he told you stories of his own, mostly about Lucifer fucking up. Levi gamed, taught you the cheat codes when he was beating you 15 to -300. Mammon only left you when Lucifer bodily dragged him from whatever room you were in.

You washed your hands, ran them through your hair. You desperately needed a haircut but, despite Asmo’s urgings, you refused to trust the demon-run salons of the Devildom. If you could somehow overcome that _and_ get Diavolo’s permission, Mammon couldn’t—the shears would be too close to your neck. One slice to regress everything back into the waking nightmare. So Asmo made do: braiding your hair, using this pin and that to keep it up and twist it into a knot. Mammon helped choose the accessories but never touched your hair himself.

These were relatively happy moments for you. Something of the old friendship was there, among other emotions. They took time. This one would, too: Beel, sitting alone in your room, having waited an hour while you were in the bathroom.

“Um,” you pointed to your tray, “you can have mine. I’ll just walk a bit more.”

“No!” You jumped; you should’ve seen it coming. He quickly amended, “No. Please. Sorry.” A familiar pain flickered across his eyes, and you saw how bloodshot they were. But he was also determined. Against your will, you remembered how kind he had been. A kindness you had lovingly taken and stomped all over to prove a point.

“I wanted to talk to you about Belphie.”

Everything came back to him, didn’t it?

“I wanted… to thank you.”

Even with your foggy memory, you knew you had done nothing in the past few days to deserve thanks.

He tripped over his words, rushing to get them out in time. He was sorry it took him this long to work up the courage to tell you how grateful he was, for giving his family a second chance when the rest of them had to abandon their brother. It broke him to do it; you didn’t doubt that. In this way, Beel wasn’t hard to predict. While you picked fights with demons and thought only of yourself, Beelzebub was repairing his house and thinking of his brothers… and you.

“You’re a part of the family,” he shook his head firmly, allowing no objection. “A part of ours.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t hurt, so you looked away. When he gingerly reached for your hand, you let it lie cold and limp. Despite everything, hurting Beel still felt like slicing tofu with a butcher knife: just, why?

The problems shared between this family weren’t the kind that could be solved by a mere conversation or hug. But you relented when you realized how badly he needed them. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt before you died of touch starvation or something. He hesitated, eyes darting between you and the tray, and you decided to take care of the choice for him.

“Beel,” you pointed. “Eat.”

“But Barbatos told me you haven’t been eating much.”

“I eat enough.” You folded your arms, not wanting to tell him why you hoarded your appetite the way you hoarded your sanity. “Take it. If Barbatos has a problem with it then he can say it to my face.”

He ate, but he was clever, holding out a spoonful of this or that with an earnest, pleading expression on his face that took strength to rebuff, which you didn’t have. And it tasted good. Even you weren’t immune to the effects of a good meal, and Devildom food honestly was enjoyable. If you didn’t think about who made it, that is.

“Tell me something?” He asked, betraying uncertainty.

You drew away from him, and his face fell at the suspicion bending your brows. But he didn’t give up.

“Do you think you and him will… be okay?” His voice caught. “He promised. I’ll raise my grades up so I can visit as soon as I can. I’ll bring as much pudding as I can. He’ll be good. I’ll be better.”

“Beelzebub.”

“Will you?”

You put the empty dishes back onto the tray and clambered onto your bed. “I could try.”

“Oh.” He exhaled. “Good.” He smiled as though your grudging concession was something much kinder. A ray of light in the abyss. “When you say something, you’ll make it come true. Not like—me. Belphie will try, too. You’ll see.” Something was lifted off his shoulders, almost literally.

“He loves you. Not me.” You wondered if he knew what Lucifer did.

He said nothing, sleeping with the peace of one cured of all ailments in body and heart. Setting his head on your pillow, you ran a hand through his hair, parting the orange strands, daring to believe that it could get better and stay that way.

* * *

The next corridor you swung into was drafty. Being in socks didn’t help but at least this hallway was quiet. You crouched down; you could probably nap here.

“Well, aren’t you just a jewel?”

Familiar enough voice, gilded frame, the auburn hair curled around the first face to launch a thousand ships, a painted smile men would pledge their lives for—you knew the name.

“Helene.”

“Correct,” she crooned. “Clever, too. I see why Asmodeus took a liking to you.” Her smile took your breath away, almost literally; she truly was one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. “Our last… encounter…” her lips quivered, provoking a rush of sympathy in you, “…left much to be desired, no? I’m sorry for that.”

A strange, disconnected feeling ticked the base of your skull, as though you were watching from outside yourself.

“What beautiful eyes you have.” Her tone soothed. “That’s it, come closer if you wish… I see. We are very much alike, dear one.”

“How?” Your mouth was sluggish. “You… weren’t you Asmo’s lover?”

“Lover!” she shrieked. Then she laughed, coquettish. “Look what he did to me, child. Asmodeus stole me away with lies, and let me face punishment for a sin inflicted by him. All demons are like that… I see it in your face. Something terrible has happened to you. Something… familiar.”

That little gremlin thing. What did he say about this painting?

“All demons are like that, I’m afraid.” She touched a hand to her chest in sympathy. “In the end, they only seek their own pleasure at the expense of your pain. And that pain… it haunts you. It scars your soul,” she purred. “You endured so much. You are so strong, maybe even stronger than them. But it gets so lonely sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Your heart swelled. She understood you like no one else and her approval rang with pleasure. A creature of such loveliness wouldn’t hurt you like they did.

But hurting wasn’t all that happened.

“You see, I was lonely, too,” she smiled wider as you took another step towards her. “Do you really want to stay with these demons? They only backstab you, let you fall into their traps. What good is it to slave after them? You’re better off with me than to continue as their pawn, my dear child. You don’t deserve to suffer like this.”

This bitch was talking like a demon. However, it was one thing to _know_ that something was horribly wrong, and another to not _feel_ the horror that screamed in your brain. Like the sleep paralysis demon that approached inch by inch every time you blinked.

“Run,” you mumbled. A shouting stabbed through your head.

But she didn’t sound anything like a monster. Her voice coaxed you to look up, directly into her eyes. 

“They will find you if you run.” Her voice took an on edge, the tone of one used to authority. A queen. “Stay with me. You will never feel pain under my hand. And together we can be strong. Come, just a little closer… and we can help each other.”

The shouting grew louder. Everything became painfully bright, a supernova searing through your eyelids. You staggered; by instinct, you swung a closed fist. Judging from the impact, you probably hit the wall, which was frustrating, so you threw an elbow instead, which met an open palm. A gloved hand covered your eyes.

“You go too far,” you didn’t realize his voice wasn’t aimed at you until he continued, “Helene.”

For someone being threatened by the Avatar of Pride, she didn’t look fazed in the least. Maybe she reserved her full wrath for Asmodeus alone. “Not so far as what you and your brothers have done to them, Lucifer. Rather, I offer a kinder solution. What’s wrong with helping a fellow victim?”

“Spare me.” His eyes tightened. “I will not have you add their soul to the thousands claimed by your debauchery.”

“ **My** debauchery?” she echoed in disbelief. “Your brother encouraged it! Your deceitful, lecherous…” she hissed, forgoing all semblance of charm. “You think I don’t know what you’ll do to that poor child?” From the way she quivered, she’d have lunged out the picture if she could. “What you _have already_ done to them?”

Pain jabbed inside his chest, but otherwise he remained impassive. “Come,” he said to you at last. “We have no more business here.” You somehow managed to walk.

“Take heed, my child!” Her voice rang. “The likes of them will never set you free! You may be restored, but they will pick you apart until you are lost forever—”

Lucifer snapped his fingers. Blue lines of fire flickered, binding the portrait to silence. His grip on you didn’t loosen until the two of you were out of that godforsaken passage.

Few details escaped the steward of the castle, especially of a human arsonist wandering the halls unattended. But there were even fewer demons who could approach you without being screamed at _and_ not be bound to a pact you could abuse.

“Do not listen to her,” Lucifer broke the silence at last. “She brought this upon herself.”

Surely he meant to be kind, but Lucifer in his near-entirety had always rubbed you the wrong way. “Oh, yeah? Because she got tricked and left to die when things went apeshit?” You wrenched yourself away from him. “Not alluding to me at all, is it?”

“That’s not true,” he began, prepared to defend a sin that was more his brother’s. Instead, he watched you go white as a sheet as though hearing something beyond his own ears, and you ran, blindly bumping into everything that crossed your path.

Mammon later found you slumped inside the guest room Simeon once used.

* * *

Thunder rolled and in the distant sky, you caught the unmistakable flash of lightning. You were afraid of neither, had regarded both with fascination over terror since childhood. Judging from the clouds, you had about five minutes before the waterworks began, which would turn the sky from grey to a slightly darker grey.

Looking up, Diavolo gave a rueful laugh. “I should be careful not to overstay my welcome.” To you, “Would you like an umbrella?”

You looked at him, Barbatos carrying an elegant luggage bag, Lucifer and his brother carrying one suitcase each. You thought those were for appearances only, but Diavolo really did take an umbrella out of his valise and held it out to you.

If you took it, it would be a positive sign. That you’d cooperate and mend bridges where possible, starting the next stage of things on the right foot.

You stared at him so he knew you heard him, and very deliberately:

_toot_

And you walked on ahead, light as a feather.

“Let them be, Barbatos,” you heard him say. Perhaps he found it amusing. Or he knew that being here was your act of cooperation, and that was enough to let such impudence slide. “Lucifer?”

“I have one already, thank you.”

“Hmm.” Diavolo gave his briefcase a shake. “We should hurry.”

Houses sharpened into focus and shoes clacked against the pavement. People scrambled for shelter, giving your entourage a passing glance at most. A biting gale sent a spray of leaves past your legs, but you didn’t falter. The overcast weather painted everything in shades of sleet, which meant there was light behind the barricade of clouds. It wasn’t dark.

You were glad that the sun was hidden. If you saw it, you might’ve looked at it until you went blind.

Behind you, Lucifer and Belphegor said nothing. But he sidled closer to his big brother when the first raindrops began to pelt down. If they had a reconciliation or any sort of mediation, it was just another detail that you would never know. At the very least, they looked civil; less angry.

Your breaths quickened to gasps as your mind stirred, taking in the surroundings with a layer of familiarity. Lucifer’s warning to slow down was lost as you sprinted and then slipped. A downpour began as you struggled to your feet and kept running, which became increasingly harder as your clothes clung to your skin.

The third time, you lay where you fell. Your elbows stung as someone held you back up. “I’m fine!” you panted, ripping off your jacket. “I’m fine!”

You splashed through brown puddles and soaked weeds until your heart threatened to give out.

Rain sluiced down your face as you crossed the road, clambering up the steps and gripping the railing. Pounded on the door as footsteps drew near, the turn of the lock and the opening of the light from the living room funnelling through the rain—

“Jesus Christ—”

“Oh… my god!”

“Mom!” You sobbed. “Dad!”

Then there was noise everywhere, the shouts of familiar people mingling with the sheets of rain barrelling down. And then it was just another story found in the ordinary course of events, folded in your parents’ embrace, underlying the angry shouts of your brother and sister directed towards these sketchy strangers behind you. A mundane, repeated tale of the lost lamb having made their way back to the flock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome home.
> 
> I don't like putting timestamps but for clarity's sake: when this chapter goes beyond the boundaries of the Devildom, the era is PC (Pre-Covid).  
> Just pretend Barbatos worked some wacky magic shit
> 
> To the readers who don't like character dialogue & discourse & discussions, you have my condolences.  
> Since it took 19 chapters to write events that happened within less than one (Devildom) year, there is no way I can cram an entire (human) year of the exchange program in the 20th chapter. Fuck.
> 
> My mind is an eggshell but storytelling is when it comes alive yaaaay


	20. Resurgam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"After one year, you will write a paper about your exchange here in the Devildom."_  
> 
> 
> **Abstract:** The inter-realm exchange program spearheaded by ~~His Supreme Dicktator Lordship~~ Prince Diavolo of the ~~demon-crawling cesspool~~ Devildom has proven a success ~~by the barest terms~~. The ~~abduction, multiple threats, death~~ induction of the first-ever human of non-magical heritage has demonstrated that within the ideal environment ~~ideal for demons you mean you egomaniacal quacks~~ , a mutual relationship can be formed between humans and ~~certain~~ demons despite differences in heritage and power. However, this program has shed light on glaring issues upon the preconceptions demons have of their human counterparts, many of which are archaic ~~Lucifer~~ , derogatory ~~shame on y'all~~ , and in extreme cases, lethal ~~hohoho **bitch**~~. To prevent similar mishaps within the next phase of this endeavour, it is highly recommended that security measures are enacted (See p.13 for suggested guidelines) as well as a remedial program for demons deemed—

“So you’re telling us our child was enrolled into an exchange program in their university…”

“Exactly.” Diavolo nods, pleased at the discovery that stoicism runs in the family. After the (extremely) condensed summary of your stay, you find that Diavolo’s sugarcoated words are nice when it’s about you.

It doesn’t change that four very dangerous demons are sitting in your living room, drinking your mom’s tea. Something out of a sitcom, you’re sure, in another world.

“…and studied at your school for one year.” Your dad frowns, turns to you for confirmation. Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. “And this is, what… how many transfer credits? Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

Yeah, great question; you glare at Diavolo. “They have terrible cell service.”

“Sadly true,” Diavolo folds his arms, looking absolutely tragic. “The realm—” Barbatos nudges him, “—of education I oversee has much to catch up compared to the rest of the world. Our culture is slow to advancement, but our newest exchange student has made substantial progress in fostering positive relationships between the d—” Barbatos coughs, “—dynamics of our students.”

“But how were they registered?” Your parents frown at the inconsistencies in this ridiculous tale, as they must. Your mom always had uncanny intuition. “What school is this, exactly? We haven’t heard from them in how long?” The suspicion is mounting. “Was this a scholarship? Exactly where is this place that supposedly has no mobile device when that young man is holding something that clearly looks like a cellphone?”

Belphegor puts his D.D.D. away with a shrug.

Diavolo rests his hand on his chin and nods to Barbatos, who reaches into his suitcase and pulls out a folder filled with paper. Opening it, he hands it over to your mom. “I think, Madame, that this will answer all of your questions.”

You see a ripple—something unnatural. You try to read what your parents are reading, but then you look up and you see their eyes slide out of focus, and then stare intently, flipping through the pages before closing it with composed hands.

“Oh. This clears everything, then.” Your dad nods placidly, and you want to shout _what have you done with them_ —but you already know the answer. They really thought a wave of magic would solve everything. It infuriates you that it does.

Your mom stares a bit longer but her expression melts as well, and she gives the folder back to Barbatos with a slackened hold. “I see. It still would’ve been nice to know beforehand… but I understand.”

You look around. Your brother’s eating fries and looking at the fancyass uniforms everyone (including you) are wearing. Your sister sips her coffee, glancing between everyone to understand what in the everloving fuck is going on. Your parents aren’t the only ones inconveniently sharp around here.

“Thank you for your understanding,” Diavolo beams. “And this must be your other children? A pleasure to meet you.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since they’ve seen you. But it’s still there: hard to describe, but the quick glance both siblings give you, questioning, uneasy. You give them a look, hoping that it communicates enough.

It does. Even your brother, who’s hard to get along with sometimes, mumbles half-hearted greetings to this supposed dean of this supposed academy you attended, clams up when Diavolo attempts to make small talk. Your sister is a bit more friendly, but a lightbulb goes off and she asks cautious, probing questions about the academy.

Diavolo’s staring at her. She’s **not** a potential lab rat. But this is your home; you remain civilized.

“Ah, I get ahead of myself.” Diavolo snapped his fingers. “This,” he claps a firm hand to the shoulder, “is a gifted student of mine. He will be an exchange student at your university for one year, just as you had in ours.”

“And he looks _so_ excited about it,” your brother mumbles under his breath.

You want to scream when your dad holds out his hand: the classic handshake test. A firm grip, respectful eye contact, and—and the demon doesn’t kill your father. He’s cautious, overly so; you can see for yourself how flaccid the handshake is and the tinge of disapproval in your dad’s eyes.

“What is your name, young man?”

* * *

You wake up in gasps. Never screaming. You realize you’re breathing. You check all of your family members, make sure they’re breathing. Pretend you’re brushing your teeth if anyone’s awake.

You check your phone for months of backlogged messages, phone calls, social media updates. No one’s panicking that you came back as suddenly as you had gone. No one’s splitting hairs or out of place. Just you.

You check your “exchange” phone. A gift from Lucifer. Suuure, a gift. Only the demons’ contacts are registered. You message back when you feel like it. They can contact their brother if they really need information.

Rinse and repeat.

You have to meet up with him eventually. But until then, you’re free to indulge in the quiet, happy days that follow. Family strolls, a day trip to the boonies, tea time. You dismiss your parents’ concerns, your sister’s insistent inquiries. As much as you can, at any rate.

“A country without cell service (your dad’s still salty about this) and the dean of this renowned academy comes in dressed like he’s about to go to war,” he grumbles while pouring milk into his coffee.

“He’s rich,” you say without thinking.

“What?”

“Oh, um, I mean…” Shit. “Yeah, his _family_ created the academy. He’s… an heir to the, uh, riches.” And the throne. You stare out the window, hoping your mom gets the hint.

You are grateful that the conversation gets dropped entirely until you find out why.

“Dad thinks you had a run-in with the mafia.” Your sister doesn’t look up from her phone.

You choke on your spit. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Come on. Rich guys from an amish country so third-world they don’t even have decent technology, and they’re _tall._ You know how much steroids cost in places like those? And nail polish?” She frowns. “They sort of look Italian. Can’t put my tongue around it, but something about them’s… hm. Bit off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you absent-mindedly crack your neck… and remember. “You know to keep the hell away from them.”

‘Course, you didn’t follow that advice much, did you…

“What did they do to you?” She finally looks up and you see her screen. She’s still playing Amidst Us. “Jesus, you look terrible. What…”

“I know.” You hug her, she’s real, she’s not some dream, and most importantly, it’s not her. She wasn’t spirited away from everything she knew and put through literal hell. It was you. She must know this. “It’s what it is.”

“But what are you going to do about him?” she whispers when you release her. “Isn’t he enrolled in the same classes?”

“You heard me talking to Di—the dean,” you reply, waspish. “Make sure the runt gets good enough grades so he can get the hell out of here.” Heh. Puns.

“He looked interested in you,” she muses. “Wonder what it’d be like to have his sort as a brother-in-law. If he’s the runt in a family like _that,_ well…”

“Oh, shove it.” You snatch her phone. “Can’t even find the impersonator? What a noob.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Language.”

“Sorry, mom.” She scowls and you laugh. Days like this, none would fathom that you had survived some kind of fantastical horror saga because here you are, joking, breathing, as if the highs and lows of the Devildom have petered out into distant recollections.

The nights are a different story.

You huddle under the covers but the pressure of your bladder always wins out. When you sprint to the toilet you duck so you don’t see what—or what’s not—in the mirror. You keep your digital clock face down because you don’t have to see the glowing numbers to know that it’s always 3AM. Sometimes you fall back asleep to your father’s snores.

But sometimes, the gap between midnight and sunrise stretches on and you think of the demon living blocks away, sleeping in the lap of comfort as he waits to coast through this year before going back like nothing happened.

It’s such a joke! Him and you, pretending that this would smooth everything out. You want to call him every foul vulgarity you know (and you know a lot), but your house is not soundproof. Nor do you text him; you know better than to leave a digital trail of abuse. If you were stronger, you wouldn’t leave any trail at all.

**< Mammon**

_Tell me what you screwed up this time._

_Took ya long enough_

_Shit I mean_

_Doncha think you’re assuming way too much?_

_I’m not THAT incompetent!_

_Guess you wouldn’t be able to text if Lucifer strung you up._

_Go on. If it’s from you it’ll be funny._

_What are ya, a spoiled brat?_

_Got some nerve orderin’ THE Mammon about!_

_Hahaha I know._

_Never mind. Just dreams._

_Lucky for you nighttime’s when I kick into gear._

_But only because I_

_Oh forget it, just listen._

_I screwed up and turned myself into a dog in class again!_

_Woof!_

_HEY_

The witching hour passes. One minute you’re stifling a smile Mammon would never get to see and the next your D.D.D is on your face and your mom scolds you for sleeping with your phone, don’t you know it suppresses your melatonin?

Lucky, indeed.

 _If Belphie does_ anything _you tell me first._

_I don’t care what Lucifer says, I’m coming up there to drag his sorry ass back._

_Too bad he can’t be killed._

_When I’m done with him he’ll wish he was._

_Wait shit has he done something already?!_

_C’mon human don’t leave me hanging like this it’s not funny_

_Answer me_

_Making my way over now DON’T do anything stupid DO NOT_

_Shit SHIT CHILL!_

_Just dozed off holy mother of crack he didn’t do shit_

_You think I’d take it face down? Me??_

_Mammon stay the fuck where you goddammit_

* * *

**< Lucifer**

_Your call was well-timed. He was almost across the Walls of Aidoneus._

_Would’ve been a pain to find him beyond that._

_Didn’t know if pact orders can go through text. Is he good?_

_He’ll have much to reconsider before running off again._

_Still, thank you. I’m glad my brothers have not fallen out of your grace._

_It’s Mammon._

_I’m aware._

_All of my brothers strive to do right by you from now on, him included._

_I said I’d babysit the demon. Don’t need you to rub it in._

_Even I am unsure of how to interact with Belphie. But if anyone can figure how to handle him, it must be you._

_One toe out of line and all bets are off._

_Rest assured, it is at the forefront of my mind._

_Which is why I ask that you establish a rapport with him. Even a weak one is better than none._

_By letting him know where you stand your school year can progress with as few hitches as possible._

_He knows exactly where he stands._

_I’m only a foolish little human, O Mighty Avatar._

_I will do what I can for you. But I need you to consider what I ask._

_I’ve done more than enough at your behest._

_Force me then. Report me to Diavolo._

_You know I cannot do that._

_Can’t? Won’t? It’s all you know to do!_

_This is your mistake. You selected me._

_Don’t tell me how to do_ my _job in_ my _world._ We _don’t hang family from the ceiling or lock them in attics._

_My family is in your hands. In turn, yours will never know the terror of my kind._

_To lose you a third time would destroy my brothers beyond hope. And me. I, too, want my precious ones safe._

_I ask that you trust my words as I trust in yours, this one more time._

_But know this: you are no mistake._

* * *

You try conventional therapy twice. Both end poorly. The only advice you decide you’ll take is yours; better than being dismissed as “overstressed with a hyperactive imagination” and recommended pills other people need. You trash the prescription on the way out.

Not even the most understanding therapist would know what to make of it. At best, they send cops to charge Belphegor with first-degree murder which would be very funny for a very short amount of time.

School starts tomorrow. You step inside.

His housing is absurdly posh: an upmarket apartment building standing a stone’s throw away from campus. Everyone who lives here is either an international student or a trust fund kid. You’re close to neither circle. Usually.

“Hello.” A doorman greets you in the lobby.

“Hello.” You knot your fingers. “I’m here for…” you sigh before your next words, “for Belphegor Daimon. Penthouse.”

You’re sure Diavolo came up with the pseudonym because ooh, spoopy. “He, er, moved in last week. I’m supposed to help him prepare for school tomorrow.”

He tilts his head but picks up the phone anyway. It rings thrice. “Good evening, Mr. Daimon. Your friend is here to see you.” He turns to you again. “Your name?”

You’re already hoping he tells you to get lost. But the doorman nods. “I’ll send them right up, sir.”

The elevator slides open. Everything’s gold and mirrored and you imagine Mammon going ham on these obscene displays of wealth. Your heart rate won’t settle. But you can’t let your fear show so you wrest off the panic and bang on the door that houses your year’s project.

The shuffling of sock feet and the door opens. Predictably tired, his pallor is more pronounced than usual. “…Evening.”

You shrug. When he doesn’t say anything more, you take it upon yourself to step in. You try to hold off on talking because you need to warm up before a shouting match, which seems inevitable.

“Yes… come on in, thank you for asking,” he mumbles behind your back and you almost snort before the knob clicks into place. You focus on your hand gripped around your multi-tool pocketknife.

The space isn’t huge but it’s posh, all right. The appliances and furniture are top-of-the-line and the double glass doors lead to a patio looking out into the skyline. Though you don’t know much about this demon, you’re sure he didn’t have any input in the décor. You look at the portrait of Diavolo hanging on the wall, not bothering to conceal your contempt.

“Barbatos picked them out,” Belphegor says, cold hatred threaded through his voice.

“Matches how pretentious he is,” you respond, as usual, without thinking.

He raises his eyebrows and chuckles. “Yeah.” He waits. He’s not Satan but he can sense your anger. Muted since you came back, but palpable nonetheless. He has only met your family once, but he sees your love for them, the joy you derive in their company. It reminds him of Lucifer, to be honest—the best of him he denied.

Sometimes an old dog can learn a new trick. Similarly, a contrite demon can learn the art of shutting the fuck up.

“So.” You sit on the wingback chair, tossing your bag on the ground, twiddling the tool in your hand. “Ground rules.”

His heart sinks and he has to work hard to not look peeved because there’s no way you’d know how he was drilled and grilled in a round-robin repetition of what **not** to do. This is a punishment, they reiterate, as if Belphegor’s too stupid to comprehend that this building is just a bigger prison. A gilded cage is still a cage.

But he sits on the sofa bed and wedges the cow-patterned pillow in his armpit. You swing your leg so it dangles or the arm of the chair. You survey him with the wary look of one who hasn’t ruled out murder. Murder-suicide is one way to tank the value of this bourgeoise property.

He listens to you in silence and lets you finish. Maybe he can read your mind, can see what you’d do if he interrupts.

“…and I hope you know how to do basic chores. Unless Barbatos included maid service. Did he?”

“I wouldn’t even if he asked.”

You snap the steel extension shut, open it again. The repetitive clicking noise annoys you but you keep doing it because it must annoy him, too. “Great. Well, not great. None of this is great. If you’re gonna make friends with the other parachute kids, keep away from their necks.”

“...”

You huff; his continued silence rankles. “Fine. Good talk.” You’re not sure what you came for but delivering a speech wasn’t it. Or you despise him so much that everything does and doesn’t do will piss you off. Then he speaks up:

“I’m used to being alone… I don’t mind it.”

You could throw this knife at him and leave. But Diavolo’s portrait affirms the unchangeable: you and Belphegor are stuck with each other, as little as you liked it. You glare at the painting. Lucifer’s texts scratch themselves into what’s left of your brain. Your parents are concerned. And Belphegor waits.

“You _are_ alone,” you agree. “If you screw up, Lucifer’s not gonna cover up for you. None of your brothers can.”

Darkness shields his eyes and scarlet colours his cheeks. “I know that.”

Of course he would. You don’t want to take back your words so instead, “Anything else you have to say?”

This is his chance—to do something that doesn’t destroy more than he already has. He remembers Leviathan who doubted to the last. He thinks of Beel and the pact he made with you, creating the promise to bring his family together. They glow in shapes of courage.

“...You know, I had a hard time deciding what to do. To find some way to make it up to you, to really mean it.”

He keeps talking before you can interrupt because this is a door that, once locked, he can never go back through except in memory. He has enough locked doors. “Maybe this isn’t original of me… I’m not good at explaining. But I know I have to prove myself to convince you.”

Putting the knife back into your bag, you cross your arms.

“I, just…” he holds your gaze. “How would you like to… to make me yours?”

The tone is serious. The words are suggestive; thus hilarious. You remember your reaction to hearing “Devildom” for the first time and wondering if it was some fetish bondage business and you want to laugh and laugh. Your palms press into your sides and you search his face for any signs of trickery. That you find none isn’t reassuring.

“Are you high?” you manage to ask.

“Don’t be so shocked,” Belphegor stares so long that you remember demons don’t need to blink. “I’m asking if you’ll make a pact with me.”

You wait until the silence grows too stifling. “Okay… what’s the punchline?”

It hurts. “There isn’t. I’m offering.”

“No strings?”

He wasn’t sure what that meant but agreeing felt like a safe bet. “No strings.”

You answer him coolly with a flash of malice, “The worthless kind you made with Solomon?”

“The same one you made with Beel,” he says at last, and almost smiles because it shows clearly on your face, the mental conflict of your natural distrust against your impulse to be… less cruel? He doesn’t know, but he hopes.

“And what if I abuse this pact?” you ask. “What if I make you my personal slave?”

You’re not smiling, which is a good sign. To him, it means you’re taking him—rather, his offer—seriously for the first time. To be honest, it’s not a fun prospect. Then again, so was hurting you to the point you destroyed yourself to escape him. He can’t back out now: this is his own handiwork. This is what he deserves.

“If you ask, I will.” He looks right at you. “I wonder, though. Would you?” Throwing the questions back to you. “Have you ever done that to any of my brothers?”

Dislike curls your lip. “I might make an exception, just for you.”

Then you accept.

He wonders if you remember what you said about making pacts with those you like. There is no such thing in your expression as the pact sigil glows upon forging the unholy covenant. But he dares to hope that he may be the closest demon to you in more than mere physical distance. Perhaps one day, you will turn to him for help just as his brothers had to you, and he won’t fail you. Then maybe, just maybe, the waking world will be happier than sleeping through it.

You test your newfound control over him: “Go walk over there. Do a jumping jack.”

Outside, the patio beckons. You can make him climb over the handrail and leap. He has no wings and even if the impact can’t kill, it’d still make a mess. The possibilities are endless… which is why you head for the door with a curt “don’t be late for school tomorrow.”

“What time is it?”

“Check your schedule.” Lucifer should’ve taped it somewhere. “Oh, and one more thing…”

You take exaggerated steps, making a big show of staggering and waving your hands. One dramatic fall later, you step back to view the tragedy: the portrait of Diavolo now has a fist-sized hole where his mouth was. How unfortunate and not at all deliberate.

“Try not to stand out,” you warn, leaving before you can look at his face.

* * *

“I thought I told you not to stand out!” you hiss.

He gives a startled look that becomes weary, resigned to your displeasure. “I’m not.”

You smack your palm to your forehead. Of course _he_ doesn’t think he stands out with his navyass hair, **purple** eyes, the blinged out RAD uniform is the standard wear in his realm. Motherfucker really had to bring his pillow, too.

At least three students do a double-take upon seeing your… new classmate. When class is about to start, naturally he has to sit beside you because everyone else is too weirded out to sit less than three seats away from the boy who looks like he has a high-stakes tournament at an anime convention.

“Yikes.” Someone leans from the row behind to stage-whisper into your ear. A classmate you’ve known since first year. “Who’s this? What’d you do, stab him?”

If only you could.

This professor barely gives Belphegor a glance before beginning the class. Easy for him; he’s been teaching for over two decades, he’s seen some shit. You don’t make a scene in front of all these people so you just sigh and try to concentrate. Hopefully everyone else gets used to this, too.

You want to slap him when he takes out his pillow, rests his head on it, and begins to doze. Ironically, _this_ is what sets a few students at ease; this is a relatable sentiment. Figures. Some of the bolder students ask about him.

“Belphegor?” Shit, this is the nerd who takes Philosophy & Religion. “Isn’t that the name of… you know…”

You could just up and say this is the progenitor of that name. If he doesn’t believe you, you’ll be the campus nutcase. If he does (big if), mass panic.

“His dad’s a hippie,” you offer.

“Oh. Cool.” The guy snickers a bit. “Parents, am I right?”

His pillow muffles his voice but the venom is present: “In what universe, human, do you have the right to bother my sleep and—” Your foot smashes into his shin.

“He’s into roleplay,” you save again. “Look, we’re a lil’ busy, gotta go.”

Later: “We do _not_ call them ‘humans’, demon!”

“Then why call me ‘demon’?”

You were counting on him to pull that thread. You slam your bag down. “You’ve done nothing to be called anything else.”

“And that child did? Did he save a country or something?”

“No. But he’s not the one serving time,” you counter. A small memory resurfaces like a hesitant thing; Mammon called you by your real name, too, only because you ordered it. “You’re not a prince or Avatar or whatever entitled fuck you were then. Keep that in mind.” If looks could kill. But they don’t; hands do.

By the time he musters the courage to mumble a “sorry”, you’re already walking to your next class. “Hurry up!”

He jogs; your command compels him to hurry. His stamina is such that he’s out of breath by the time you settle in and open your notebook. He looks shrunken, even a little green. You remind yourself you don’t care.

When the nerd pesters Belphegor again, you snap and tell him to keep his stupid questions for the professor, wouldn’t want the old prune to think someone was disrupting his class, would he? Then you tell yourself you were defending the nosy little shit and all of the student populace with that one. A pissed off demon is hard to handle.

He pretends to sleep through this one, too. Buries his head as your words bury deeper. It’s only the first day, he thinks. But one day becomes an infinite of tomorrows and just like that, it’d be done. Would happiness be waiting at the end, or would you always treat him like an enemy?

When he goes back, he flops onto his bed. If Beel was here… if _any_ of them were here… they knew you, or a part of you that wasn’t mired in hate. You treated them with kindness, even gentle affection.

He is not Envy, so he sleeps. In lost dreams, he pretends not to weep.

* * *

**< Beelzebub**

_How is he? How are you? Is everything okay?_

_Belphie says he’s learning a lot. He says he’s working hard to make up for… you know._

_Everyone here misses you both. I wonder when the day will come when we can all have a meal as a family again._

_Belphie used to love humans. I know you know that._

_I wonder what Lilith would think of_

_Wait no_

_Sorry forget I said that I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say that_

_Yeah, he misses you._

_Sorry, Beel._

_Why are you saying that? I don’t really understand._

_You’re working even now to help Belphie. Helping me_

_Helping everyone despite everything_

_All I do is eat and eat but I never feel full anymore._

_I wish I could see you._

* * *

The world of a student isn’t too different from RAD. The deadlines and projects just lack the supernatural component. Still, it’s a demon’s nature to give in to temptation and these are all humans. Humans with souls drenched in despair as they slog through the academic institution. It’d be so easy to slip up…

“That so?” you almost sound bored as you thumb over the rubric for Friday’s assignment. “Then I suggest you start with Mitchell in the front row. Everyone knows he bribed his way to the top of the class since midterm.” It could be a joke if your tone wasn’t so cold.

It’s clear that you won’t respect Belphegor until he’s earned it, and perhaps not even then. Your respect is a luxury few demons can afford. You look up from the rubric, wilfully being a dick. But surely toying with words was nothing compared to strangulation. “Would you, demon? It’d be so much easier for both of us.”

“Are you asking me to?” Anger creeps into his voice, giving way to the frustrations pent up after multiple failed attempts to try and make amends. He is the only brother vying for your attention in this place—yet he feels even Lucifer would make more progress with you. “Is this an order of the pact?”

“No, demon.” You toss down the papers and the pretence. “You’d know if it was.”

One of the best things about schoolwork is that it keeps you from thinking of the Devildom. Not for long, you realize, when you have a demon to tutor and navigate through everything from bullshitting essays to what machines to use at the gym.

“You’ve changed,” he says, once again smothering his rage in face of yours.

“So have you,” you clap your book shut. “So has Beel. Don’t even start on Mammon. Diavolo’s fuckery screwed us all up real nice, didn’t it?”

He keeps his trap shut. He’s really getting good at it.

“Am I wrong?” It sounds like a rhetorical question. “Are you still the boy in the attic who wants to watch the world burn?” You crack the joints in your neck, and then your back for good measure. Strange that you, a human much younger calls him a boy, but fitting nonetheless because that is how he feels: small and vulnerable.

He concentrates on keeping his hands still, but a tremor lingers when he answers “no”.

But it dawns on you, too: you are no different. Just because it’s not _your_ world—

Your mouth pools with saliva because if he sees you swallow you must acknowledge that you, too, have a part in the blame game. It makes you a hypocrite but there’s a perverse comfort knowing that it truly takes one to know one.

“Then stop saying crap we know won’t happen,” you snap the words. “Both our families are on the line. At least act like you know what you’re responsible for!”

In one second, the blade flips open and you launch it from your hand. Belphegor raises his arms, but the army knife flies past him and sinks into the stupid portrait of Diavolo’s stupid face and you feel vomit at the back of your throat. You hunch over.

You flinch, violently, when he places a hand on you. You’d swat him away if your arms weren’t reduced to jelly. You could order him away but you won’t speak until you’re sure your voice is strong. So you stay put and let him shift closer, tentative hands patting the small of your back. He knows this is not forgiveness.

You can’t let your family see you like this because it’d break you. You can’t let the brothers see you like this because it’d break them. You can’t let Diavolo and his skinny bootlicker see you like this because it’d make them think they’re doing the right thing.

When you come to, Belphegor is staring at the painting with a dubious expression—the knife. He’s staring at the knife. Then he takes out a permanent marker and just like that, a slosh of ink upgrades the portrait from _slightly vandalised_ to _awfully vandalised._

He says nothing and holds out a second marker towards you. An hour later, the canvas is graffitied voodoo deformed beyond salvage, riddled with holes.

Diavolo now sports an atrocious moustache, punctured holes for eyes, seven mouths where mouths shouldn’t be (“he spews enough shit for a thousand mouths but I can’t draw that many”), amongst other charming details. A wrinkly ketchup packet bursts in your fist and adds the finishing morbid touch of your artistry.

“I don’t think even Beel would’ve done this,” he says at last.

It’s not just Beel. No one defies Diavolo and it’s easier to respect someone who can’t be overthrown. Even Lucifer, for all his might, was beaten once. Diavolo, though… what hadn’t come easily to the High Prince of Demons?

Belphegor mutters something and purplish flames flicker, licking at the edges of the ink-ketchup-miscellanea-splattered mess and you enjoy the ephemeral satisfaction of watching it burn until all that’s left is a pile of ashes on the floor.

“Fucking prick,” you mutter.

“If you ever make it happen for real, let me watch,” he replies, equally hateful.

Your scowl deepens. You don’t doubt his hatred for the prince just as you never doubted his love for Lilith. You’re not friends, God fuck no. But something minuscule shifts in realizing the foundation of a common enemy. This too could end in ashes, but your anger doesn’t ebb easily and you suspect that his won’t, either. Maybe this is therapy.

Here’s to a long and lasting relationship, you suppose.

* * *

“What happened to Diavolo’s portrait?” His voice is frigid.

Belphegor doesn’t look up from his notebook. “Beats me. Got a problem?”

“Belphie—”

“Gonna tell me how to decorate my prison, too, Lucifer?”

* * *

Belphegor remembers when he loved humans. Warped as this love has become in the wake of murderous loss, he starts to see remnants of what so endeared your kind to him in the first place.

You, on the other hand, refuse to make it easy for him.

“Wake up, asshole!” Who needs an alarm clock when he has you on speed dial? The doorman knows you so well that he doesn’t phone Belphegor anymore before sending you up with a nod. “I said this class gives participation marks!”

A hand yanks him by the hood of his sweater. He barely has time to put on his socks before you rush him out.

By now, your study group is used to Belphegor. That is, they mostly leave him alone while he naps in the background while the rest of you quiz each other on word definitions and impractical formulas. You don’t know what pisses you off more: that he sleeps through every lecture and tutorial or that his marks are higher than yours regardless.

“I’m not cheating,” he says.

“Swear it on the pact. Are you?”

“Everything’s based on memory,” he shrugs, flipping the pillow to the cool side. “Demons are good at that, you know?”

Some of your classmates furtively glance at Belphegor. He is an enigma (your program does not get many new faces) and there’s so little known about him other than that he is an exchange student from some mysterious country and is only ever seen with you.

Also, he’s hot.

 _That’ll_ do it.

They inanely prod you with their questioning. Yes, he’s single. No, you don’t know what his type is and you don’t care. You double up on studying, however, because it infuriates you to no end that this unwelcome interloper somehow bests you in academics that would serve _him_ no real purpose while you needed every mark you could get for jobs and stuff.

Oh, you have your share of fights and then some. An argument devolves into screaming in his face and commanding him to stay in his apartment. He holes up in his room, talking to Beel and trying to understand where he went wrong.

To your credit, you don’t seem to derive much satisfaction from lashing out. Nor are you incapable of showing warmth, even to him. There was that time you grabbed his hood to keep him from falling when climbing a hill to view the cityline sunset. This time you teach him, with unexpected patience, how to make cheese quesadillas in his kitchen. It’s no Quetzalcoatl brains but it’d do.

“I don’t want to deal with this right now…” he made a vague gesture towards the dishes in the sink.

That’s how you get flies. “Does the ickle princeling not know how to do the dishes?”

Two spots of colour appear on his cheeks. “Stop that. I know how.”

“Hmm. Ezra won’t like it if it becomes common knowledge that the transfer student can barely do basic chores.”

“Quiet, you, I’m not that… who’s Ezra?”

You roll your eyes. “From yesterday’s night class, the one with… huh, you honestly don’t know, do you?” You snort. “Half our program’s wondering if it’s worth getting into your pants and you have no idea!”

Belphegor’s not that stupid. It’s not his domain, but he can sense lust before Campus Health Services set up their booth with the bowl of free condoms. But he says nothing because your laughter, though scornful, is calming.

You slap him on the back and he nearly falls over. He glares in irritation. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh no, did I make you uncomfortable?” Making a rude hand gesture, you walk over and pull open his fridge. “What’ve you been eating? There’s nothing here.” Water doesn’t count.

“I don’t eat.”

A pause. Then two.

“The fuck?” You turn like he grew a second head. “So you ate nothing except quesadillas?”

“I’m not Beel,” he retorts, harshly defensive. “Demons can survive longer without food. We’ll weaken, but it takes more than that to die.”

There’s more (there’s always more when it comes to him) and you should’ve checked the fridge before making the quesadillas, you guess. All you had brought were near-expired tortillas and shredded cheddar. An unwanted stab of pity makes you grimace and one thought leads to another: Six older brothers meant the youngest, at least, would always be fed. Did the dumbass know how to cook an egg? No one ought to go hungry. Spoiled brat. No one asked for this.

You shove the leftover tortillas in the freezer. Expiration dates meant nothing to demons. Probably.

“Miss having Lucifer spoon-feed you?”

“I told him I didn’t want his stupid food. They’d come from Diavolo anyway and I want nothing to do with that. Said I’d make my own and put a curse on the fridge if he tried to open it.”

“So this is a hunger strike.” Mockingly. “Does Beel know?”

“No.” He makes his first demand since coming here. He looks like a demon, for once. “Don’t tell him. You can’t.”

Your first leverage and you can’t even use it because it’s Beel. “None of my business,” you reply, and he relaxes.

The next day, you make a pit stop and dump in your change.

He’s confused. “Why?”

“The vending machine broke,” you toss the chocolate milk to its side. “And I hate that brand. If you don’t, I’ll toss it.”

He grasps the carton. “Beel hates wasting food.”

So do you and you’re glad he doesn’t know that. You knock back your can of Mountain Dieu and wait for the jiggling to kick in. Either the drink or the prof will knock you down but the citric taste pops for the time being.

* * *

You know it’s a proper house party when no one labels their red cups, beer pong and video games in the same room, and someone’s sobbing in the corner. Upstairs, some idiot’s vomiting. But hey, if Belphegor insists on coming with, he can hardly blame your poor taste in social gatherings. This too is a learning experience. How college students throw a party, a demon’s handbook.

“Hey, piece of fuck.”

Belphegor glares at a girl roughly your age, but she’s focusing on you with ferocity. You scowl back, jabbing your unwanted bodyguard aside as you step towards her.

“You shit.”

And you’re laughing, clapping her back and her arms squeezing around you so hard you can smell her perfume. Man, you had missed her. “The hell are you doing _here_ of all places? This party sucks.” She doesn’t bother to keep her voice down and though she gets a few dirty looks, no one disagrees.

“Poor decisions,” you say. That and a look sends the both of you into another fit of giggles. Both of you talk, words laced with loving vulgarities. Eventually, it shifts to Belphegor because he won’t leave your side and though he’s not glaring anymore, appears far from welcoming.

“Hm-mm?” She eyes him up and down. “This the kid you dragged back from your homestay in smack middle of nowhere?”

“Yup,” you down your drink and reach for another bottle without looking at the label. You pour her one, too. Belphegor shakes his head when you give him a questioning look. You elbow him again. “Introduce yourself. Don’t be rude.”

He tries but the music is painfully loud and everyone, including you, is a little drunk. Names are exchanged. Names are instantly forgotten in the pounding bass and the crunch of discount brand potato chips.

“Well, whatever-your-name-is, you couldn’t’ve picked a better dumbass than ol’ Spaghettini.” She pulls you close to her and Belphegor is hard-pressed to keep still and not pull you two apart. “Good luck.”

“Keep going and all you’re gon’ see are these hands.” You punch her shoulder, the way only an old friendship allows. She looks at Belphegor again. “I didn’t hear your name but it sounds like a mouthful.”

“Call ’em Belphie.” You tip back more liquid fire.

“Belchie?”

What goes down must come up but it stings like a bitch. Now your sinuses are burning, too. You shriek in hysterical laughter. Belphegor stares in part because _did this lowly human girl just mangle a nickname reserved for his family_ and _he has never heard you laugh like this ever before._

When you finally pull yourself together with the odd giggle burst from your lips, you feel a prick of shame. Alcohol never makes a genius out of you. “Easy on him, Nugget. He’s only just got here.”

“Looks it. Crap, my ride’s here,” she pockets her phone away, “talk to you later. Nice meeting you, Burpie!” She melts into the crowd; the front door opens and closes, and through the window, a car roars to life and drives away after hitting the curb. Twice.

You glance sideways, mellow with alcohol but very much aware of what his hands are doing. “Don’t even **think** about it. None of my friends, not a single hair on their heads, Burpie. Kapeesh?”

He looks at you, resentful, then looks down, ashamed that you read his mind so easily and jealous that another _human_ coaxed such a different side out of you so effortlessly. Yet… it makes sense; he’s the one out of his element. The odd one out. The human world is where you shine because this is your home—where you belong.

This does not make him like humans much better, but he smiles a bit when you yank him by the sleeve of his shirt and lead the way. Even if the only physical contact you’re comfortable with is brash and cutting when it comes to him.

* * *

“I’ll pack some sandwiches for the time being. Campus food isn’t healthy and I’m sure you miss having home-cooked meals. Is that all right?”

“Mom!” It’s no use. She’s the best of you.

“Thank you.” He keeps his head down but he can see your mother’s hands dotted with age spots. Lilith’s blood flows in them, he’s certain. “Thank you.” It’s all he can say to express the whirlwind of emotions. Late sunlight falls in broken pieces on his lap.

When they first made their home in the House of Lamentation, it killed him to not have anything left of his sister. The cenotaph erected in her memory was only a glorified husk of the one he so loved. Not a real grave, whatever Lucifer pretended otherwise. But it was all they had then. Now he can accept Lilith lives on. She is present in the bubble tea your sister snorts out when you tell a particularly stupid joke. She is in your family and you are what upholds her love for her brothers, for all of humanity.

It doesn’t make everything right. Yet… he can begin to forgive himself. For not being able to save her, if nothing else. If everything that happened had to happen to create you, then at least it wasn’t a complete tragedy.

Ah, you. You are a marvel, he wants to say, among so much more. Belphegor always has more emotions than he knows what to do with.

“Such an earnest boy. Bit shy, though, isn’t he?” She says as she closes the door after one last wave.

“He’s not a baby, Mom.” You sip your tea. You hope he’ll go and actually study for once instead of snoring because his grades are the ticket to him getting the fuck outta here. “And the sooner the little shit leaves, the better.”

You take care not to swear around your parents. The minor expletive they let slide, even give you a sly smile in understanding that sometimes anger must be voiced aloud. But it’s their house, not some sleazy tavern. You respect that and them. “I wish he’d stop trying so hard. Annoying brat.”

“Psh. Like you’re any better,” your brother scoffs as he sneaks another bite of cake.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Still, he seems okay. Pretty chill.”

But the demon played nice. When your parents insisted on seeing him (“think of how lonely he is away from friends and family, this is the least we can do”) you were sure he’d turn into a monster again. You reiterated the pact several times despite him swearing he’d be on his best behaviour.

Because all of you were living mementos of his sister? That must be it. Nothing to do with… anything else.

**< Lucifer**

_I never thought Belphegor would open up to me again. But he told me about your family._

_Thank you for allowing it. It has helped him greatly._

_Hm. Did he cry?_

_You may ask him. But I am relieved that both of you are in good hands._

_And on a personal level, it’s gratifying that you were raised in a household of such love._

_Yeah I know._

_But thanks for saying that._

_The two of you appear to have made an amicable rapport._

_It is commendable. Keep up the good work._

“So sure of himself,” you grumble one night on the patio. “Makes one want to defy him as a matter of principle.”

Belphegor leans back on his blanket. You’re on your feet, leaning against the wall. A cigarette in hand would be the finishing touch to the picture of depressive urban grunge. Since you don’t smoke, you hold a can of diet 7Down.

“You sound like Satan.”

“He’s one of the saner ones,” you defend. “Wonder how that came to be considering his… brother and all.”

“He wasn’t always like that,” he stretches into a more comfortable position. “He… used to be amazing.”

It takes a beat to realize he’s not talking about Satan. “Sorry, what?”

“I said ‘used to be’. Before parroting everything Lord Diavolo said.”

“At least you guys now know why he does.” You crumple up the empty can and toss it away. With your hands suddenly having nothing to do, you stare at the sky. Light pollution covers the stars.

“Guess so,” he mutters. “You must hate him for it.”

“Why?” Your reply is terse. “It’s one of his moments where he’s not a prick.” Like you. Even sinners love those who love them. “He protects his family. I understand that.”

He looks at you intently. “I can see why.”

You tsk. “That’s why you’re here.” You return his stare. “We’re each other’s punishment, after all. Lilith’s last laugh.”

He tries to suppress the wince. Then he sees: you said her name without derision. He wonders if you realized the lack of resentment. Regardless, he wasn’t so stupid to enlighten you about it. “She told you everything, didn’t she?”

“It’s not like I ever had a full-out _conversation_ with her,” you roll your eyes. “More like ‘hey I’ll un-strangle you, go help’ and that doesn’t leave a lot of room for epiphanies.”

Too late, the weight of your words hits and Belphegor flinches again. Only… why is it too late? You didn’t say anything wrong. Your lips twist to conceal the unknown regret. “Soon this will be over and you’ll go back. One happy family for you, one for me.” You toss your hair in a deliberate motion. “She’ll rest easy then.” Adding with a curious indifference, “No question which family she prefers over the other.”

He says nothing as he stares into the blaring landscape.

* * *

Though no one’s counting, it’s almost exam season when you favour him with a real smile.

Every month or so, Solomon drops by. He has greater access to the human and he makes it a point to check on the demons bound to his service. Belphegor’s immense dislike for this arrangement amplifies when he includes the clause to see you. A demon and human forced to co-exist in close proximity, he explains, merits concerns… especially when both are famous for their volatile sentiments towards each other’s species. You don’t contest this.

Still, the gaps of time when Belphegor forgets he’s in prison grow longer. With Solomon shuffling the cards, you folding away the empty pizza boxes, it’s almost akin to a scene out of a family scrapbook. Belphegor takes a discreet picture to send to his brothers.

“Wiped the floor with me again, huh,” he grunts. After the seventeenth loss in a row, he’s pretty cheesed.

“Perhaps you’re being generous?” Solomon offers.

“Nah. I don’t take cheap victories,” you cut in, turning to Belphegor. “You’re just THAT bad.”

“Quiet, you…” He glares at Solomon. “You’d better not be enchanting these cards. This time, I’m shuffling.”

“So what did you learn at school today, Belphegor?”

“Don’t,” you growl. “Advanced Calc. Demon’s still smug as hell to learn that a goddamn _number_ is named after him.”

“I’m _not_ smug,” he counters. “But Lucifer doesn’t have one.”

“Ah, you’re referring to Belphegor’s Prime. A unique number, certainly,” he chuckles. “If Poker’s too daunting, we can switch to Blackjack. As iron sharpens iron, friends must sharpen each other—”

“Slapjack?” You perk up. “You’re on!” You snatch the deck before Solomon can correct himself.

Your palm stings. While Belphegor is loath to hurt you and Solomon’s slaps are politely restrained, they have _no_ such niceties for each other. You’re amused when the tension between Belphegor and Solomon comes to a head and the table almost cracks in two amidst the smacks of hands and knuckles.

Maybe it’s schadenfreude or whatever term for the fucked-up part of your brain that makes you giggle at others’ pain. The time you spent in the Devildom would’ve only inflated it. Filled with greasy takeout and sugar, you turn to Belphegor with a lazy grin.

“Crack shot, aren’t ya?”

He blinks and the smile is gone as you gather the cards. But he had seen it. And it aches, but at least it doesn’t stab.

* * *

You get a part-time job at a café. Belphegor wants in but in your ‘realm’, most jobs require government identification and a shitload of papers for insurance and taxes.

Thanks to your boss, Captain McJackass, champion of overlong shifts, you hold out for a month before you’re “laid off” after working past midnight. You text your parents that you’ll crash at a friend’s.

You kick pebbles as you walk past a flickering streetlight, overworked and seething inside. A shitty day, shitty night, and you didn’t know where to go. You walk the major roads, trying to figure out what to do next…

“Hey, baby!”

Your blood freezes then boils. You should stare ahead, keep walking. You pull the hoodie to your chin.

“Aww, you’d look hotter if you smiled. How much for a good time?”

A whiff of sour alcohol hits your nose and you start to shake. Rational thoughts trail into upheaval that rattle like screaming. But you’re silent. Most of these unsavoury incidents stop here: the drunkard ambles on after a few expletives about being “fronting” and you forget. You pick up the pace.

“Ay! Come on, how much?”

You’re wearing a hoodie and sweats; ah yes, classic hooker wear. Your hands are scrunched so tight they lose feeling and you are hit by a sudden wave of emotion that nearly trips you over.

Rage. Peaking rage.

“ᴰᵃᵐᵐᶦᵗ.” your voice chokes. This is the moment, then, you begin to truly understand nothing will ever go back to how it was. _You_ won’t go back to who you were when you faced your consequences without flinching, nor when you could blame the meddling of demons alone for your deterioration of character. The full measure of this loss, you must deny.

You are a demon who fights demons. And to feel any motion of meaning that doesn’t well up in despair, you’ll take it.

So you stop walking. You fumble for your army knife. You can’t find it so you give up and grab a rock. The footsteps are approaching closer and you sprint towards them.

“Fuck you!” You shriek. _“Fuck you and fuck this whole fucking day!”_ You swing.

The rock never leaves your hand.

“Stop!” Someone grasps your fingers. Too bad he didn’t go for your tongue. That was the one reflex you had mastered, and the last of your strings snap as your surroundings burst into disorienting noise. Pent-up fear and frustrations that have little to do with a drunken catcaller spiral into exhilarating, freeing anger.

“Get off me, you motherfucker! Don’t touch me! I’m going to make him pay for doing this to me!”

“Mammon!”

“Ugh… I’m fine. Call Lucifer! It’s the pact!”

“No! No one calls anyone!” Then more restraints. For every limb you wrestle off, two more take its place. You smell the downtown sewage as you slip, mixing with rose perfume and salt water. “Let go!”

They can’t disobey your commands but any demon worth his salt knows how to circumvent. From an outsider’s perspective, it’s pretty comical: each time a demon’s blasted off, they scurry through some magical loophole and latch onto you again. Like a relay to keep you from advancing towards an asshole long gone.

“Ugh, get _off!”_ You scream again. When you feel a hand on your mouth, you chomp down, hard. More screaming ensues. “GET OFF! _LET GO! I’LL_ **_KILL_ ** _HIM!”_

The streetlight goes out, replaced by the scarlet glow of Pride as its avatar materializes in front of your eyes. The one demon who doesn’t play by your rules. In a single stride, he gathers you in his arms, a movement protective, restrictive, and something else easily missed in the chaos.

“I didn’t expect such an enthused welcome,” his voice is drier than usual.

“What took you so long, Lucifer?” Beel helps Satan to his feet. “I got bitten, look…”

These are familiar voices and the feral creature that is you shakes in bewilderment. Then the world tilts beneath your feet and you’re held like a priceless jewel. Weightlessly calling you back to earth. Except these people shouldn’t be on earth with the fluorescent bulbs of a grimy convenience store flickering behind their forms.

“Some things don’t change, huh?” Beel smiles, but there’s something sad in it, too.

He’s right. But other things have, like how Lucifer squeezes you to his chest the tiniest bit before he sets you on your feet and the faces crossing into your field of vision elicit more relief than reproach. The latter is still present, of course, but the gladness of not being alone means much to one haunted by pain.

“Where’s—” you didn’t almost say Belphegor, “—that bastard?”

Lucifer frowns, then relaxes. “I take it you mean the human that ran? He’ll be taken care of.”

“Belphie called for us to get you first. Are you alright? Hurt anywhere? ”

Demons lived in the present; they were supposed to. And here they stand, changed by you. Beel’s question hangs in the air and everyone’s looking to you, hoping for some kind of greeting that can assure them that their visit wasn’t in vain, that the seeds of reconciliation you had granted upon parting with them still lived. A hug would be a privilege.

Instead they watch you pick up another rock so that you have one in each hand and sprint into the alley the fucker scampered into. _“I’ll turn your face into a glass parking lot!! You—”_

* * *

—end up scratching your shin on broken glass before Lucifer pulls you back.

If only all of your wounds were as straightforward as this, easily patched up with disinfectant that Mammon accidentally pours all over, followed by Leviathan’s first bandage sliding right off.

It’s a good thing, you muse, that you don’t waste time waiting around to heal.

You don’t know the catcaller’s name. So even if Lucifer remembers to make good on his word, there’s no way for you to know. People drop off the radar all the time even without demonic interference.

So, like many other things that have little significance in your life, you forget.

* * *

“You know it won’t end like this.”

Belphegor looks a lot better since meeting Beel. The brothers’ visit was unexpected, all right, but you enjoyed it as much as the youngest did. Now they’re gone and you’re left to digest the revelation that only one month remains.

Eleven months ago you’d have taken his remark as a mortal insult. As it is, you close your study notes with undue force. “Care to explain?”

“Hmm… maybe I will, after a nap. I’m tired.” He reclines with feline indolence, pulling his knitted blanket up to his chest. “Nighttime here’s so short.”

So much for cramming. Well, two can play that game. “Gonna call Solomon.”

“I told you not to go trusting someone like him.”

“If Diavolo decides to ever rename you the Avatar of Trust, I’ll listen to you then.”

He sighs. “Fine… all I meant was he’s not gonna let you go. You think he’ll leave you alone for good after this?”

“What are you saying?” Your face goes ashen. “If you just get the marks…”

“Still don’t understand, huh.” He shakes his head and smiles a bit, but he’s grave. “You made this human exchange program a smash hit, you know? Every year or century when he shuttles in the next exchange students, you’ll probably be his trophy to parade about to prove everything he does is perfect. You’ll never, ever be able to escape him.”

“But they’d know… Mammon and Beel and Satan! They’d be furious!”

His eyes tighten. “You think they can stop him? He’s the future king and the most powerful demon in my realm. Don’t go stupid on me now. You can’t even do proper magic to save your life. All he needs is a spell or some potion and you’re done. If not that, well, he knows your family. Taking them like he took you, how hard do you think it is?”

And then… even if you somehow cast a shitty spell, there would be the entire demon army Barbatos, Lucifer…

You’re on your feet. “The two-faced son of a bitch.”

“He’ll probably leave you alone for a bit, but he’ll know where to find you. Us demons are… well… pretty good at twisting our promises.” Something acrid and yearning crosses his face. “Make no mistake: he’s a demon, too.”

You never assumed otherwise.

The panic is muted by the discovery that, on a subconscious level, you had never expected anything different. Lucifer told you Diavolo puts the interests of the Devildom—which is ultimately his own—above everything else. What was a human’s life in comparison?

“What do I do?” you finally whisper.

He regards you with a complicated gaze. He reaches out, wanting to connect and tell you he, too, was made an example of the consequences of disobedience. He can help. He’s somewhat surprised that you accept his arm for a moment. Then your eyes narrow to slits and you twist like a snake.

“No… don’t. I don’t need anything from you,” you hiss. You bolt out the door.

The evening after your first exam, you crash at his apartment with campus sushi, a pack of Rad Bull, and a somewhat contrite attitude as the two of you study on.

“I’m sorry,” he says at one point.

It’s the energy drink and three coffees that say it, you tell yourself. “Me, too.”

When your brain can no longer hold the course content, you let it scatter, freestyling to the rhythm of Belphegor’s knitting needles clacking against each other.

_Can’t even catch a break though_

_Ah, fuck you, Diavolo_

_Your fuckery sucks, I want risotto_

_E… I-E-I-O… zzz…_

You pass the rest of your exams without difficulty. Belphegor is surprisingly a reliable study buddy when he’s not snoring his head off. You could almost call him a friend.

It sounds better than ‘lazy distant uncle recovering from homicidal tendencies’.

* * *

Diavolo can catch you if you’re lying and Barbatos is not a lenient punisher. So when they arrive at your parents’ doorstep, just as they had one year ago, you nod. When Barbatos offers his hand to keep you steady for the journey “back home”, you grab onto the hem of Belphegor’s shirt.

“Don’t stretch it,” he grumbles.

“Oh, stop being a pissbaby,” you snort.

Diavolo’s hearty laugh bores itself into your skull. “Hahaha! I’m so glad that you two are on better terms. What a year it must’ve been, I’m so glad to meet you again! Your success is telling. Very good; just what I expected.”

You don’t need to look at Belphegor to know you’re both united on one thought: asshole.

“Indeed, my lord,” Barbatos joins in, “the sanction has brought out the best of everyone involved.” He turns to you, all smiles and approval. “Please continue as you are now, striving to do your best.”

The brothers’ frantic joy is a beautiful thing to behold. Up close and in their warmth, they feel like a second home and you revert into childish giddiness as you holler, despite yourself, “Guys!”

“Oh, shit! C’mere, you! Been keeping us waitin’, have ya?”

“You’re here! Come, let me get a good look at you. Eek, such circles under your eyes! You almost look like Belphie!”

“We just finished exams,” is the reason. You grin and poke at Asmo’s cheek; it takes Satan the breadth of a moment to realize the comparison does not faze you at all. He exhales, and laughs to himself. But even the incorrigible Mammon is silenced as Beelzebub, already clutching his twin, jumps and pulls you into his arms with a strange sound of choked crying and laughter. He holds you very tightly and you can’t see his face; it takes Lucifer clearing his throat and tapping him on the shoulder to let you go.

“You,” you turn to Belphegor, “have the best brothers across the three realms.”

The look you give him is almost approving—maybe that’s too strong a word. But it’s soft and he’s back in the attic staring through the latticed door, the human that kept him from slipping into despair and murdered and died and lived and now his family was together again—

He’s glad to be in Beel’s arms, where it’s easy to bury his face like he’s shy. He remains still even as a gloved hand rests on the top of his head, its wearer savouring the rest of his brothers’ revelry that rises fever pitch when you reveal that you came bearing gifts, and yes, Levi, it is the Ultra HD copy of the panel featuring both Ruri-chan’s voice actress and cast visual from the stage play adaptation, just like he asked aaaand he’s fainted.

“What’d you get me? I’m dying to know! What did you get!” Asmo is beside himself.

“No peeking until I give it to you.”

You’d be more than pleased to spend your allotted time in the newly reconstructed House of Lamentation. It’s loud and calls to you like a hearth where you eat, sleep, and laugh with those you love. In fact, it’s one of the few things keeping you from losing your mind whenever you’re called to Diavolo’s castle for meetings and like drudgery.

“You’re at ease now,” Lucifer remarks, swirling the wine glass in his hand. The vinyl music swells as you step in without requesting admittance. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Probably because this time everyone who matters knows where I am,” you answer. “Helps with the anxiety.”

“Have you been spending time with my brothers? I’m surprised you were able to slip through them.”

You puff your cheeks, let the air out slowly. “It wasn’t easy. But… figured they’d like some private time. Just them. ‘Specially Beel.” You point behind your shoulder. “You should join.”

He laughs quietly. “I have already spoken with Belphegor. Thanks to the fact that everyone is busy upstairs, I am content to stay here and enjoy my music in peace.”

“Neat,” you mumble. “Neat music, too.”

“Indeed,” he sips. “This is the soundtrack, which you borrowed from Levi for me.”

“The cursed one that kills anyone who listens?” You consider if you should worry. Then, you don’t. “Nice.”

“You’re not afraid. Of course you’re not; I’ve come to expect as much.” He sets his glass down. “You know… there were times when I thought that I’d made a mistake by choosing you.”

This time you really laugh. “Yeah, me too.”

“You were difficult to deal with,” he replies. “But also… special. More special than you are difficult. Truly,” the chair scrapes back as he towers over you, “you are a strange human being. You’ve changed me… and my brothers as well.”

“Worked both ways,” you drift towards the window with a wistful smile. Moonlight is kind, alters you from a spitfire into someone whose friendship is a coveted honour. “The past two years have been interesting. I suppose I have you to thank for… well. For everything.”

He smiles back; the scene in the corridor of Helene’s portrait might never have happened. “You’re most welcome. I thank you as well, for everything,” he echoes. Vague, just like you. But it gives you your foothold. “You have made this year… quite entertaining, to say the least.”

If there is refuge in audacity—you crack your wrists. “I want to make a deal.”

His overcoat rustles. His face closes off. You don’t scruple to prod all the points that hurt. “After everything I’ve done, I earned the right for you to _listen_ to what I have to say. If not for me, then for your brothers.”

He presses his fingers against his eyelids. “I can offer no promises.”

“But—”

“The second installment of the exchange program did not last this far only to have it end at the last in another tragedy borne of a ‘deal’.” His tone brooks no further wheedling. “Say what you wish if you must.”

Fine. “I want a pact with you.”

Huh. That’s what he looks like when he’s utterly speechless. While you let those words sink in, you stand up straighter; you’re still a midget compared to him, though.

“I see…” His words are slow and deliberate. “You’ve made pacts with all of my brothers, which just leaves me… may I ask why? Do you simply wish to acquire the full set?”

Ha! No. “Exactly.” You sober at his glare. “Yeesh, no. Don’t mistake me for Solomon.”

“I cannot mistake you for him, or for anyone else. You,” he places a firm hand on your shoulder, “are singular enough to be mistaken for nobody but yourself. But do you know what you ask, what it means to make a pact with me?”

Yes. Yes, you do. A voice that sounds like yours screams for you to run. “No,” you squeak.

The glow of the fireplace and light fixtures are blotted out by the expanse of black wings. You behold the power of Lucifer, the Pride who went before _the_ Fall, sworn to the glory of the Devildom everlasting. Even his brothers, mighty avatars of their own right, submit to him. You have withstood his wrath. If you do it again, impress him somehow…

Your legs twitch in an automatic impulse to run. But Lucifer is quicker.

“There’s no escape now.” He blocks the exit, smiling in spite of himself. No, there isn’t, you repeat inside your mind. But it is the difference between walking ahead with your own two feet. You had entered his lair with your head held high. You were not commanded here, nor were you dragged in kicking and screaming.

His words do not deviate from the script and they crawl into your skin all the same. He doesn’t know. For him, there has only been one continuous stretch of reality that has never been broken in the first place.

“So, what will it be?”

“I…” You clear your throat. Brace yourself, the way you do before making an informed decision. Stupid, maybe, but informed nonetheless. “One thing.” Before he can refuse, the words pour out. “If I…” You can’t quite say _belong to you_ and not just because it sounds so silly, “…take this pact, you won’t… hand it over to anyone?” Were pacts even transferable? “Like, let’s say some demon offers you a fuckton of Grimm if you give the pact you made with me and—”

“Preposterous.” His eyes are more red than grey. “You are no commodity passed from one demon to the next. The claim I make upon you will be given over to no one else. To imply otherwise,” he glowers, “is a grave insult. Indeed, I have punished countless for less.”

You take it for what it’s worth and you will hold him to it: the promise that you will not fall to another’s schemes. It’s not much, but God, is it something. An anger you cannot fulfill, but even this loss, you will lose on your own terms. You will retain a paradoxical freedom for the questionable cost of becoming another’s… yeah.

The Avatar of Pride is not one to be delayed and he makes no secret of it. And it is not a full loss, you reason.

“Then, under these terms,” you reply, “yes. I will make a pact with you.”

It is done.

* * *

If you had a choice in how to spend your last evening in the Devildom, attending a royal demon party with unfamiliar demons would not crack the top twenty. Yet here you are, sipping Demonus and meeting other high-ranking officials of the realm who treat you so amicably that it feels slimy.

Everything is Diavolo’s way of reminding you are at his mercy. The speeches, the token gifts, the winning smiles; the message is clear, isn’t it? “See me fulfill my dream of uniting all three realms at your expense. You are the fulcrum to my goals. Resist and I will take another of your own to take its place.”

It’s humiliating. To add insult to injury, it’s a gala. His ambitions are a soaring success and you are the figurehead of his shining moment. But you stand because you aren’t just a tribute. You’re a fucking human being.

“Here is our guest of honour!” he booms, taking you by the hand. “Come, everyone’s awaiting an audience with you.”

You submit to this because the food is prime, the brothers are happy (their happiness is intrinsically tied to yours), and Lucifer affirmed that this is the closing event of your sentence—er, the exchange program. Belphegor’s the only demon who has a bigger following than you, composed of demons eager to hear about his time in the human world.

Not even Lucifer can make you _dance_ with any demon who isn’t his brother. He doesn’t push this, so you dance with him when he asks.

“What’re you laughing about?”

“I was just thinking about how lonely it will be without you around,” he twirls you around.

“You still have your family,” you point out.

“Yes,” his eyes glitter, “I do still have that.”

The festivities wind down. You’d happily stuff yourself alongside Beel, but you can’t even kick off your shoes before you’re ushered to pay your final, parting respects to the High Prince of Devildom before everyone is sent home. Lucifer stands beside him.

“Thank you,” Diavolo beams when you bow even as you think nothing but thoughts that wish him a painful death. “What an eventful year it has been! I appreciated every one of your weekly reports and Belphegor’s accomplishments in your academy has proven worthy. A wonderful resolution has been reached, much has been learned, and much of it is thanks to you!”

You give him a half-smile, fixing your gaze on him when he finishes. “Yes. It would seem that Belphegor and I,” you pause to conjure the right words, “have reached a compromise of sorts.”

“Very good!” He claps his hands. “I sense that it has evolved beyond that, but I understand. It seems my assessment of your capabilities remains unfailing. Not to mention, it was a pleasure to know more about your family.”

Those words jab and you want to rip off his face for daring to consider. The idea of your family having _anything_ to do with demons is enough to cover your vision with a scarlet haze. Fortunately, you have your bearings.

See how they love me, you think as loudly as you can. See how I can command them with a flick of my wrist. I’ve done it before. I did! You focus in this inward moment of exultation and fold your hands in front of you, all prim and proper.

You start your curtsey, a submissive posture at odds with your face that shows more than courage. You bow your head low, grinning wider, feeling the pacts echo with the pulse of your heart. Lilith’s blood has reunited with the essence of her seven brothers at long last, and you command both as their scion.

When you look up, Barbatos’ smile has chilled and you revel that your thoughts show clear as a bell. “It was a long road to get here, Lord Diavolo,” you speak with confidence, skilled in the discourse of evasive truths. “I hope the work I put in doesn’t go to waste.”

So watch it, you say in your head, syllable by syllable.

“I’m very happy to have accomplished what I had set out to do at the beginning of this exchange program…”

Mess with me and mine one more time and then we’ll see just how much I can set my pacts against you bastards.

“And to add anything on top of this would be unnecessary for now.”

You catch Satan’s grin. It’s electric, wrath blending with elation, and he enjoys it as much as you do, even if he doesn’t know the source. You give the demon royals your most winning smile, laugh soundlessly through your nose.

“I will know how to prepare for the future. So, thank you, for making me well aware of the _value_ to take away from this experience,” you finish with a small bow and make your way into Mammon’s arms. The others gather around you. They are warm and they are yours.

**They obey me. Fuck with me again and I'll make the Celestial War look like a balloon fight.**

Diavolo nods. Lucifer purses his lips. For once, the burden of responsibility and worrying about the aftermath is not on you, not tonight. You laugh with all your heart. You radiate bliss the brothers cannot help but be drawn to. There is no war tonight and you are free to love.

And you do.

Oh, it won’t stop there. You’re still a soft squishy human with a million different problems and a target on your back. But they’ll hesitate. That’ll be all you’ll need; you did more with less. And if not, well… there would be another way. Humanity was nothing if not resilient, willing to adapt. If that wasn’t enough, you had the brothers. Your heart lightens in the way you know you are loved.

You’re only human. You walk, braced and prepared and full of _life_ —every flawed, priceless detail of it as you step forward to the places you belong.

_End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that.
> 
> One last big thanks to @ForeverAlone5 for beta-reading, checking over my drafts, and providing the best ideas I could ask for.  
> Thank you guys for your comments, it was a truly wonderful experience learning how the story touched different readers in different ways.  
> Maybe the ending's not what you guys have been hoping for and I understand if some find it disappointing. But things, for the most part, are where they should be :D Also open-ended enough for the canonical Season 2 events to take its course (yay, continuity)
> 
> That was my first story for this fandom! Will go back to being a lurker for the time being and hopefully I find something else about the game to get mad about and start writing :'D
> 
> Y'all the best mwah <3


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